The Black Prince
by greysider
Summary: Aires of the House Baratheon, first of his name, is the second son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. In a world of fire and ice, he must carefully tread the waters of power as he strives to climb his way to the top. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, he must hide the truth of a past life to survive the great game and emerge victorious from the ashes.
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

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 **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **Story Premise:**

 **Aires of the House Baratheon, first of his name, is the second son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. In a world of fire and ice, he must carefully tread the waters of power as he strives to climb his way to the top. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, he must hide the truth of a past life to survive the great game and emerge victorious from the ashes.**

* * *

 **Early Morning**

 **10** **th** **Day of the Sixth Moon; 296 A.L.**

 **The Red Keep**

 **King's Landing, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms**

The first ray of sunlight pierced the darkness over the horizon in the far distance.

Brilliant gold and orange hues bled like fire over the Narrow Sea. The first slither of the sun peeked over the skyline in a radiant, white form. Gradually it raised, a defined circle in a vibrant backdrop. Sparrows chirped an explicit melody as they began to wake. The ocean was liquid gold and silver, leaving the plain roofs of the houses of King's Landing dull in comparison. As the sun fully revealed itself it seemed to swell, losing its focus and spreading across the sky.

From atop stone balcony, standing tall and proud, a boy stared out on the horizon. He watched intently as the sun raised itself up into the sky and colored the grey skies of the morning.

Slowly, from the darkness, the sun rose higher and higher, revealing more of the young man's face to the light. He had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks. His emerald green eyes pierced through the shadows and the sunrise. His straight jet black hair lay neatly across his head. He had a plain jawline and high cheekbones, indicators of high birth.

All independent of each other, they presented characteristics of any man. But together, they formed something else entirely. Together, they showed a young man mature far beyond his years.

As the sunlight moved higher, illuminating more of his body to the day, his eyes remained steady, unblinking. His hands were crossed over each other behind his back and his upright posture was as unmoving.

He was but boy of but 14 years, yet his calm demeanor gave him the appearance of being well beyond his true age.

He was alone on the balcony, the only time of day he was completely by himself. It allowed him a much needed break from the petty squabbles and the harsh politics of his life. Up here, he could be himself. He could be relaxed, calm, and peaceful. He could ignore his life and instead reflect step back and reflect upon it.

It was times like these that made living here in King's Landing worth it. That one hour in the morning, with most of the city still asleep, where the sun rose and bestowed upon the capital its grace.

His Queen Mother would never understand the beauty, the utter perfection, of these simple moments. Her entire being demanded extravagance and entertainment, but this was far more pure. For her, the beginning of the day was just as plain and boring as the end of it. The truth could never be more different.

Life was a cruel thing, wasn't it. It was cut short far too often. It was wasted and abused far too often. Everyday though, was a new opportunity. A new opportunity to make something, to create something, to do something, to rise to become something better. The rise of the sun ushered the hope of living another day for so many millions.

So many of his fellows couldn't understand what was so magnificent about living every day. His grandfather would though. He would understand it better than anyone. Every day, he strived to create something better, for himself, and for his family. He himself wasn't quite so philosophical about it, but he well understood his grandfather and his quest for a legacy.

That was what all men dreamed of after all. Being rememberer. That was the ultimate dream.

You see he didn't fear death, or at least not in the way most men would. He feared being forgotten, just like all secretly did. The end, for him, was not death, but the passing of a memory. Such a thing was far more precious than a life.

Lives ended here and there. Tens of thousands a day. From here to the far east of Essos to the tip of the southern continent. Lives were inconsequential. Memories, though, those were treasure. And every day, he endeavored to make his own just a bit more powerful.

He closed his eyes, appreciating the various sounds that filled the city. He knew he didn't have much time left here. Shortly, he would be thrust back into the realities of life. Soon, he would be forced to grasp the responsibilities of his name and his title as he did every day of his life. For now, though, he stood perfectly still as he felt the heat of the morning's first rays caressed his skin.

The patterning of footsteps woke him from his thoughts. He could tell they were lightly dressed by the soft sound they made every time they placed another foot on the ground.

He looked backwards towards the corridor leading to the balcony. Recognizing the figure, he turned back to look at the sun, enjoying his last few minutes of peace for the day.

Soon enough, a young lad, his age, came to stand next to him, bowing his head as he did.

He turned to face the lad, his expression remaining completely neutral. The boy met his eyes and his mouth opened to express his wonder. He got used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile.

The laws of nature dictated that some stood over others. It didn't matter who or why they did, but that was the way it was. Whether it was money, power, faith, birthright, there would always be those who stood at the top of the pyramid.

Respect followed these lines. Nobleman often times commanded the respect they shouldn't, simply by right of their birth. It was a complex that covered all of Westeros. The weak bowed to the powerful, and the powerful stepped over the weak. Such was the way of life.

The lad extended his hand with a handwritten note in it. Deftly, he seized the letter with his right hand and brought it to him.

With but a slight smile, the boy nodded his head and hurried back towards the corridor, leaving him alone once more.

Slowly, he opened the letter and eyebrows furrowed as he read through it. He took a deep breath as he folded the letter back up.

He tightened his fist and crinkled the thin piece of paper in his hand. Then, barely noticeable, the inside of his hand flashed red. He opened his hand and ash fell from his palm onto the ground. With a wisp of air, the ash flew off into the sky, as if it had never existed.

The game didn't ever wait. One had to seize it in their hands and make their own destiny. It didn't discriminate on age, on gender, on wealth or on blood status. The great game was unavoidable and all consuming. He was but one player on the board, and in the end, there would only be one winner.

He looked over the thousands of houses of King's Landing one more time. His eyes drifted to the Great Sept of Baelor, the only other massive structure that stood out next to the Red Keep.

Soon, soon it would all be his. The Red Keep, the Sept of Baelor, the people, King's Landing, all of Westeros itself. He would have it be his, no matter the cost, and no matter the consequence.

His legacy would be one that would be remembered for millennia to come. All across the world, beyond the edges of Essos and the southern deserts, they would speak his name and remember his accomplishments.

For he was Aires of the House Baratheon; first of his name; son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister.

And he would rule all.


	2. Chapter 1: A Black Lion

**CHAPTER 1 - A Black Lion **

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**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **Story Premise:**

 **Aires of the House Baratheon, first of his name, is the second son of King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister. In a world of fire and ice, powerful forces are at work. Surrounding by treachery and lies, the Black Prince must carefully tread the waters of power as he strives to climb his way to the top of the ashes of the Seven Kingdoms.**

* * *

 **Chapter Summary:**

 **The scene is set for the Great Game at King's Landing. Aires Baratheon is summoned to see his father the King, who reveals some disturbing news to the young Prince. But is this plot really what it seems to be?**

* * *

 **Last Chapter:**

 _His legacy would be one that would be remembered for millennia to come. All across the world, beyond the edges of Essos and the southern deserts, they would speak his name and remember his dreads._

 _For he was Aires of the House Baratheon; first of his name; son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister._

 _He was the Black Prince. And he would rule all._

 _And he would rule all._

* * *

 **Morning**

 **10** **th** **Day of the Sixth Moon; 296 A.L.**

 **The Red Keep**

 **King's Landing, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms**

Aires Baratheon strode down the hallway outside the Great Hall of the Red Keep, his head held high and his black robes flowing behind him.

As he passed them, servants left and right fell to their knees and bent their head to him. He didn't make eye contact with any of them, letting them move past him like shadows that never existed. He himself walked down the middle of the wide corridor. It was both a privilege that came with power and one that inversely projected it.

The hallway was certainly wide enough for him to walk on either side. Having lived in the Red Keep and studied every corner of the massive red monstrosity since the day he was born, he was quite the expert on the building. The corridor was just slightly more than five meters wide, easily allowing at least the same number of people to walk down it next to each other.

Power was more easily represented in the little things than the big ones. The servants bowing whenever in your presence, the lords who played their utmost respect to you, the constant stream of gifts and tribute to keep you in their good graces. Walking straight down the middle of a hallway and watching everybody move to the side for you. That was the true reflection of power.

It was less the broad strokes, and more the minute details. Power was present in every move one made, they just had to have the wisdom to realize it. The bowing of every single servant and lowborn person in the Keep, one by one, continue a tradition of bowing to power than had existed since the First Men. It would probably continue to exist for millennia onwards. In his mind, it was completely unnecessary, but he was wise enough to know that trying to reverse such a protocol as this one had no purpose.

He watched as another young servant girl, Mika, her name was, bow to him as he turned the corner. She was a 15-year-old maid who took care of his clothes and laundry on a regular basis. He knew her well, yet even with her he refused to entertain any visual or verbal communication with her. He was a son of a Great House and an heir to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms; she was a poor servant girl whose family outside the Red Keep struggled to put a meal on the table day in and out.

It wasn't that he believed himself to be superior to her, he just simply was. Oh don't get him wrong, it wasn't either of their faults by any stretch. It was really straightforward. He was born into one life, and she was born into another. He pitied her for it, for sure, but he couldn't be bothered to care about every single one of the million peasants who infected the drain sewer that was King's Landing.

She was a nice girl, no doubt. Very obedient, and with a nice pair of breasts and nice tanned legs to go along with it. But she was a lowborn. She would always be a lowborn. She would always be poor, and hungry, and hopeless, and dependent on some noble family for a consistent meal and a nice set of clothes. In another life, he might instead decide to embark on a social crusade for people like Mika, but that was another life.

Moving swiftly through the halls, he soon came face to face with a man he had hoped to avoid today. He was hunched over and stumbling along, a long chain hanging from his neck weighing him down as he went. He wore overly large plain brown robes, the fabric looking dirty and unscrubbed. Snow white chin hair dangled down to at least his chest level and a few dozen strands covering his balding head.

This was Grandmaester Pycelle, leading member of the Order of Maesters and member of his father the King's Small Council. The 70 year old man moved through the corridor nearly falling into some of the servants as they passed near him. As Pycelle was acting out his elaborate crippled act, Aires adjusted himself and plastered a smile across his face.

"Ahh, Grandmaester!" he shouted out, moving over to the elderly man.

Pycelle looked up in surprise for a second, not having expected the young prince to be in this part of the Keep at this hour. He almost abandoned his posture, before he remembered to wince and fake a pain in his leg. The next second though, he managed a weak smile of his own and raised himself to address the boy.

"My prince," he coughed out, "May I ask what you are doing heading towards your father's residence this early?"

Aires moved towards the man, his charming grim still present. As he neared him, he was able to pick up on a few of the Grandmaester's stray thoughts.

The old man thought himself clever to discern Aires's destination. Sometimes, men in positions of power liked to overestimate their own abilities. Pycelle was one of them. Both he and the man knew the Red Keep like the back of their hand. Anyone of the servant's passing by them now could have accurately guessed his definition based on where they were in the Keep now. Nevertheless, he widened his own eyes to show his surprise at the Grandmaester's deduction.

He saw Pycelle smile slightly, happy to have thrown the prince of balance, or so he thought.

Aires gave out a small chuckle before moving his attention to pretend to focus on one of the Baratheon men-at-arms retainers, Lorian of House Grandison, pass by them.

There were men of all different types always lurking around the Keep. Whether they be loyal or not, it was them that set the stage for the great game to be player out on.

"Indeed," he commented airly returning his eyes to make contact with Pycelle's, "My Lord Father the King has summoned me to speak with him.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the Grandmaester's eyes widen slightly before he relaxed them and stored away that information for later use. The man had always been very adept at playing the game, but perhaps, Aires thought, his senility act had had a deeper impact than Pycelle thought.

Everywhere Pycelle went he saw plots and lies. He didn't admonish the man, for he was wise to think the way he did. Nevertheless, the prince beloved himself to be capable of separating the plots from the plans. Pycelle, less so. Maybe it was easier for the old man if he saw everything in one light only, it would make snide.

Aires knew firsthand that in the city of plots and conspiracies, everything seemed to incite paranoia and mistrust. Even the simplest things could be turned into the nightmares and dreams of simple men trying to play the game. He didn't see what part of buying a piece of the fruit at a farmer's market was suspicious, but apparently one of Varys's little birds had seemed to think so.

Never mind that though, Pycelle was opening his mouth to ask another question. No doubt he believed that the answer would be something incredibly incriminating. He would be in for a disappointment, but it seemed the Grandmaester was experiencing a fair amount of those these days.

"My prince," he began again, his usual fake inquisitive expression on his wrinkly face, "Might I ask if you know the reasons for your summons?"

Aires's smile widened.

"Nope,"

Pycelle seemed disappointed, but quickly covered it up. He bid the prince a good day and moved around him to continue towards his destination.

Aires took his happy expression down and went on his way in silence.

Truthfully he didn't know why he had been summoned. He was not worried about it though,

The King of the Trident was far too busy whoring and drinking to be bothered to walk around the Red Keep to talk to his second son. Aires doubted he would even be able to if he wanted to. His weight would have had him falling down the first flight of stairs he came to. Well that was probably an exaggeration, but what was life without being able to poke fun at people?

Always aware of his precise location within the Keep, Aires stopped in the middle of the hall before turning the corner to his father's residence. He steeled himself and took a deep breath. He cleared his throat, calmed his emotions, and strode around the corner.

At the end of this particular hallway stood Ser Preston Greenfield and Ser Boros Blount, both members of the Kingsguard. Their splendid golden armor shined brightly as the rays of sun peered in through the windows on his right.

On the sides of the hall were a number of Lannister men-at-arms, the permanent force relegated to the services of his dear mother here in the capitol. He approached them without slowing down, his head held high and his shoulders upright. Without their helmets, he recognized most of them, scanning their faces discreetly as he walked by.

He did have to say he quite admired their professional battle armor they wore. As a trainer warrior himself, he was aware that such armor and clothing was far more effective in a true battle than the bulky and inflexible suits of stone that the Kingsguard had plastered onto their bodies.

The two royal guards acknowledged them with a non-committal incline of the head and opened the large door for him.

Overall, his opinion of the Kingsguard was, as you could probably tell, not too high. They were glorified guard dogs, not proper warriors. Selmy would be the exception to that, his uncle probably as well. An oathbreaker he may be, but Aires didn't give a rat's shit about upholding oaths unless they actually mattered. Meryn Trant, him Aires could do without. A child beater that one was. He thought that smacking down small babes was equivalent to being a proud warrior.

One day, Aires promised, he would teach Trant a lesson. One that would probably involve a fair amount of blood and tears, and certainly not from himself. However, that day was not today and anytime in the near future. Trant was, unfortunately and not at all surprisingly, a favorite of the crown prince himself, his brother Joffrey. Those two shared fetishes in blood covered young boys and girls.

He continued to pass by more guards and household servants, all taking the proper measures the incline their heads and bend before him as he walked by. For a second he stopped and looked around. There definitely seemed to be more red around here than normal. At usual there was a complement of both Lannister and Baratheon retainers in the Red Keep. Now a days, though, Aires could have sworn he was seeing the Baratheon men purged from the household guard purged one by one. He frowned, but made no other distinguishable expression.

Ever since he could count, there had always been more Lannister men in King's Landing than Baratheons. From retainers to servants to aides to men-at-arms, the red robes and uniforms had long outnumbered those in yellow and black. He was well aware of the jokes that non-nobles with enough understanding of politics liked to make about the Lannisters and the Red Keep.

Nevertheless, it was not something he could ignore. Merchants and traders were not the only ones who were deeply concerned with the concentration of Lannister royal power under a Baratheon King.

A sizeable amount of Westerosi nobility had supported the ascension of King Robert Baratheon to the throne simply to deny it to one who would be held under the influence of the Westerland lords. The fools they had been. If there was anyone in the Kingdom who operated more under Lannister influence than his father, he would commemorate them for their service.

He would have to talk to Selmy about this matter the next time they spared together. He would most likely have insight into what staff changes were being made.

Now was not the time to consider this though, so he filed away those questions for another time.

He came up to his uncle, standing in front of the door he knew to be his father's office.

"Aires, how are you?" he asked, his tone of geniality and casualness making little effect on the prince.

Jaime Lannister, was, without doubt, the most laid back of Tywin's children. You might think at he was forgetting somebody pretty important here, but he wasn't. Tyrion wasn't, far from in truth. Tyrion, no matter how far in drink and cunt he was, had a brilliant mind matched by only a few throughout all of Westeros. His "tiny uncle" as he had jokingly referred to the dwarf in his youth, knew very well how to play the game and how to make the best of his physical deficiencies.

Jaime, however, had never been a player like he and Tyrion had. Even from a young age, the young Lannister heir had always preferred his sword training to his politics lessons. It was his mother who had taken an interest into the finer arts of warfare while her two was wrapped up in the harsher ones.

Uncle Jaime had always been relaxed and good natured. Now that didn't say anything about how Aires perceived the man to be morally, but it was oddly refreshing to have one close contact who didn't play in the game like everybody else did.

"Very well uncle," he replied, his typical smile adorning his face, "It seems to be a nice day by the looks of it."

Jaime Lannister broke into a grin.

"Marvelous indeed! A spar later at the training grounds?" he offered.

"Of course dear uncle. I shall see you there by, let's say," Aires paused to remember his other plans for the day, "Two o'clock after midday."

"Perfect." the Kingslayer replied, opening the door for Aires to walk through.

The prince smiled at Jaime as he passed him, only abandoning it when the door shut behind him.

He looked across the room which was his father's residence. There was a large golden bed off to the corner, the sheets in every which direction. There was a collection of small furniture spread out across the room and various paintings hung on the walls.

He stepped forwards and heard the sound of contact with metal underneath his foot. He raised his leg to see himself having stepped on a beautiful looking golden chalice. The stain of red wine had already seeped into the floor, leaving Aires to believe the cup had been laying there for quite some time.

"Over here son!" He heard his father bellow from another room.

Aires followed to sound to one of the rooms in the back of the residency. He soon entered a large room with a massive wooden desk behind which a window left a serene view of the Narrow Sea.

His father was ensconced on the plain chair behind the desk, another golden chalice in his hands. It was half empty.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a cousin of his from his mother's side, Lancel, with a large pitcher in his hands. It didn't take a genius to deduce what the contents were.

His father's cheeks were slightly red, but but the seven if there was a day that they ever weren't.

Aires smiled calmly and shoved the bile down his throat. His father was probably halfway drunk at the moment, his usual state of being, something the prince would never be able to respect. Nevertheless, he would not and had never raised argument with his father over his habits. Such an argument would serve no purpose other than slowly degrading their relationship, something that was not agreeable to him in any way.

His father, King Robert of the House Baratheon, at this moment, resembled a fat lazy big. One of his legs was propped up on top of his desk and his body seemed to be leaning off of his chair. He stood six-and-a-half feet tall, with broad shoulders, a great round belly, and a thick beard of coarse, black hair, a curtain of jet falling to the nape of his neck.

Robert pounded his overly larger chalice on the table.

"Aires my boy!" He bellowed out, "I have some news for you!"

His father sounded set down by whatever it was he had to say, but he had tried to hide it behind his boisterous voice. He was failing spectator sly. The prince could see the shadows of dismay behind his blue eyes.

Aires raised his eyebrows just a bit while he let his smile curve, showing his interest and curiosity. His father was simple minded. He liked when his children were happy and excited. His father broke out into a wide smile, a genuine one probably. While it would be obvious to all that he had been saddened mere minutes before, seeing his second son so content with him made it impossible for him to be gloomy.

The prince leaned forwards, waiting for his father to reveal to him what this good news might be.

Robert's smile threatened to burst open his face. Clearly he loved making Aires wait in suspense. It didn't necessarily matter what the information was he was holding, just that he held it and Aires didn't. It was a habit of his. And why not, the King told himself. His son always seemed to know more about anything than he did. It was only fair that he got to enjoy moments like these.

"Why don't you tell me how you are first?" He asked, his cheery demeanor all too obvious.

Aires smiled. He was willing to indulge his father for a few minutes. He had done it for years. Doing it now would be no different.

"Father," he pleaded, a little whine added in the back of his voice, "We sat with each other last night for supper!"

Robert burst out laughing again.

"But you know son," he started again, "I feel like I never see enough of you! You're becoming more and more like me every day!"

Aires smiled, trying to hide the scowl that threatened to emerge. That comparison was unnecessary and untrue. It was something he didn't need to be told, not least because it wasn't accurate at all.

"But father," he replied again with some mirth, "Just tell me what your news is!"

Robert did nothing but keep that ridiculous grin of his on his face as he took another swig out of his cup, leaving it newly emptied.

"Lannister!" He barked off towards his cousin Lancel, "Get over here!"

Lancel Lannister scurried over from be corner, the wine pitcher shaking dangerously in his arms. Well that was a disaster waiting to happen, Aires thought, and he would not like to be nearby when it happened. Lancel arrived besides Robert in a split second, his hands still quivering and shaking.

The 17 year old son of Kevan and Dorna Lannister was shy and slow-witted. He rarely talked out loud, preferring to remain in his own silence. It was clear to all that the King abused his squire beyond the norm, but that was one of the perks of being King.

Lancel stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do. A broad smile played on the King's lips. He enjoyed making the young Lannister look like a fool. He might be shackled to their gold, but this one small bit of satisfaction was immensely pleasing.

The teenage lion looked out towards Aires in desperation. The prince gave him a sympathetic smile, but otherwise made no move to help the poor lad.

"Well what are you waiting for you fool!" Robert roared at his incompetent squire, "Pour me some more wine!"

Lancel's head bobbed up and down as he rushed to fill the King's chalice with his pitcher. In his haste, he spilled some on the table.

Aires closed his eyes, fearing the reaction of his father. He didn't care about the Lannister of course, the boy could go play with lions for all he cared. It was rather the tone of voice his father used when berating his squire which man the prince's blood run cold. It sounded so similar to the voice of another fat man constantly drunk. They were not good memories.

Lancel was nothing like him, but he couldn't help but see something every time he saw the interactions between the boy and the King. The situation, the confrontation, the words, they were all too eerily reminiscent of a similar situation with another boy. A boy who lived in a closet with his abusive Aunt and Uncle in another world.

When he heard nothing for a second he reopened his eyes. His father was glaring at Lancel and breathing under his breath, but otherwise stayed silent. As fast as he could, the squire disappeared out of the room to refill the pitcher, leaving Aires along with his fuming father.

"Well father," Aires spoke out cheerily, "You were going to tell me something."

Robert turned his attention back to his son, but the happiness that had existed moments earlier seemed to have vanished.

"Yes," he said simply as he raised his cup to his mouth once again.

He reached over to seize a pile of parchments at the edge of his desk. His put forwards his arm and gestured for Aires to come get them.

The prince moved forwards and took the documents from his father's hand, leaving him to go back to his chalice while he read through them.

They were a series of letters between some very important people. Just by scanning through them, he could see the names of the King, his uncle Renly, Lady Olenna Lord Mace Tyrell of the Reach. The letters were all dated in the past few moons, meaning that the conversation detailed here was all recent.

He would joke that he was surprised that Mace knew how to dictate a letter, but he presence of the Queen of Thorns amongst these documents wiped any humor from his mind. Olenna Tyrell, nee Redwyne, was perhaps the most skilled player of the great game. Her network of spies and informants spanned the length of Westeros and her manipulations ran from castle keeps to tavern sellers.

Aires wondered what could have been going on with the Tyrells that would impacted him so much. His eyebrows furrowed and adopted a puzzled look.

His father sighed and continued to drain his drink as he stared at his son reading through the numerous letters.

Finally, when Aires was finished, he looked back up at his father, his face betraying his astonishment and shock.

"What is this?" He asked. He had understood it perfectly well from reading this letters, but he needed the King to confirm this. He just couldn't believe it.

"You're going to be heading off to Highgarden," King Robert replied, a grim expression marring his formerly joyous face. It was not something that one would see everyday. The King was not a very difficult man to read, and this day was the same as every other.

Highgarden was the seat of House Tyrell and the regional capital of the Reach, the most populated and productive of all of the seven kingdoms. It was also known to some as the "Throne of the Rose Queen", a definition Aires could not find fault with.

He had been to the beautiful city a couple times. He had traveled there first when he was eight, back in 290 A.L. He had been touring all of the kingdoms, a process which took the better part of a year. He had visited every major city from Gulltown to Barrowtown to Sandstone. He had traveled lightly with less than half a dozen companions. He had planned the trip for a year in advance, carefully convincing his father, and more importantly, his mother, to allowing him to go without impeding him.

It was during the trip that he had first met the Tyrell family in their own turf. It was also when he had struck up a friendships with the "Rose of Highgarden", Margaery Tyrell. She was Lord Mace's only daughter and political apprentice to her grandmother Olenna. Since their initial meeting, they had traded letters for many years. Overtime, Margaery had developed into an important confidant for him, something Olenna no doubt helped to facilitate.

The second time he had been graced with the beauty of Highgarden was two years past. As part of a critical trade negotiation concerning tariffs on the Roseroad and trading rights in Goldengrove and Ashford, Aires had traveled with the delegation to the Reach. He had had a nice reunion with his confidant and been able to further strengthen their growing bond.

None could say that Highgarden was not a beautiful city, not that the women were anything less than gorgeous. Nevertheless, Aires's face showed all of what he thought about this idea. His deep frown and look of extreme concern even sent his father off balance. He hadn't expected the prince to have such a negative reaction to the situation.

"Do you understand what this effect this will have on our House?" Aires questioned.

Robert frowned for a second, trying to remember what his son was talking about. He looked down at his cup, hoping maybe to find the answer in the non-existent reflection of the red wine in it. He didn't think he was that drunk yet, he had only started an hour ago. For the sake of him though, he couldn't remember what on earth his black-haired son was alluding to.

He settled with a puzzled face.

That didn't go over with the Prince.

"I am the Lord Steward of our House in the Crownlands, father," he reminded the man tersely, "A position you appointed me to four years ago. Exiling me from the capitol will not help do good for the management of House Baratheon!"

"You are not being exiled!" Robert yelled back, upset at his favorite son even thinking of the prospect. Damn it all. Here he was arguing that he wasn't being exiled. Of course that's what was happening. That was exactly what fucking Cersei wanted, wasn't it. And here he was having to argue on her behalf. He hated this.

"You realize I will have to appoint a new Steward before I leave?" the Prince almost barked at him.

Robert's hand swatted the air in front of him.

"Appoint however you want boy. Maybe that paper obsessed administrator of yours?" he offered, dismissing the question.

"For how long will I have to stay in that city?" Aires asked.

Robert gulped. He had not failed to notice how his son had said "have to stay" and "that city". Clearly not words of endorsement. Even he was not stupid enough not to catch on to that.

"A full 14 moons," he revealed, raising his cup to his mouth again to try and drown away his feelings.

He could see the broken expression on his son's face, and his heart fell another hundred meters to the ground. He turned to look away from the prince, refusing to meet his eyes. He felt sorry about having to do this, truly he didn't want to. However, somehow Cersei had made an about face two weeks ago to push for the idea. Robert had many powers, but when the full weight of Lannister gold was being shoved down your throat, there was little you could do, King or not.

"And when will I be having to leave?" he heard from behind him.

He didn't turn to see his son, simply coughing out his reply in between repeatedly draining the contents of his chalice down his throat.

"Two weeks,"

"That's 14 days I have to set your goddam House in order!" he heard from behind him.

Normally Robert would have protested Aires using such language at him, but he couldn't bring himself to do so right now.

He recognized the heavy sounds of footsteps moving out of the room. The door to the residence was wrenched open and then it was slammed shut.

Robert Baratheon didn't say a word. He sat still, his cup in his hand and a dark scowl on his face.

He didn't care about that sadistic fool Joffrey, the innocent weak Tommen or the invisible squealing Myrcella. Aires was the only one of his children that he took pride in.

Some thought him a fool for naming his son after after the Mad King. He remained convinced, to this day, that he had never made a better decision in naming anything.

If there was nothing else that Robert wanted, he wanted to wipe out the name of Targaryen. He had personally shoved his warhammer into Rhaegar. He had sanctioned the murders of Elia Martell and her Targaryen demon spawn. He had sent assassins after the last remaining dragons, Viserys and Daenerys, year after year.

However, he knew that history was not wiped out by deaths, but by other history. To that end, he had hoped that the son that mirrored him in looks would rewrite the name Aires and shove aside for all eternity the name of the Mad King.

One day, and he knew this to be true, Aires would be the name of the great and popular son of the House Baratheon, not the lunatic king of the house of dragons.

Again his wife succeeding in driving an even deeper wedge between himself and his son! That bitch had done enough to wound him throughout the years, but perhaps nothing was worse than the manipulations she undertook to sever his relation with his son.

Everything from arranging their schedules to keep them apart to sending Aires off on far flung diplomatic missions to keeping him busy with menial things while Aires was around.

Robert liked to think himself intelligent enough to smell plots against him. Cersei loved his first born, Joffrey, to death. She prioritized him in everything she did. She spoiled him and now he had become the little shit Robert always knew he would be.

For some insane reason, Cersei had gotten in her mind from the day that Aires was born that he was somehow a threat to the very existence of her first son. Now Robert had never understood that. Joffrey was the Crown Prince, and as much as he wanted to deny it, some day the fucker was going to become King when he died. No matter how powerful and capable Aires was, and he was leaps and bounds beyond Jeoffrey, he would always be doomed to be the second son, not the first. Aires would inherit the Stormlands, but Joffrey would get the Iron Throne!

But here again, Aires was being sent off. This time it was to the Tyrells. For more than a full year at that! He cursed out loud as he lost himself in his sadness and anger.

He sighed deeply and yelled around the corner for that stupid fuck Lancel to refill his cup. He was going to need it.

* * *

Aires burst out of the residency with a frown covering his face and his hands clenching in rage.

Jaime had been about to follow him upon his appearance, but had decided not to. Wise man.

He had not made eye contact with any of the Lannister or Baratheon retainers as they passed him by. He let everybody in sight see his enraged demeanor. They promptly stuck themselves to the walls when they saw him stomping by.

Nobles and lowborns alike could feel the very power of rage that enveloped them when the Prince was near. It was almost as if a projection of sheer indignation was being radiated from Aires Baratheon.

As soon as Aires had turned to corner, though, his entire demeanor changed. His shoulders straightener, his face morphed into an impassive bland screen, and his hands loosened up at his sides.

Then a smirk slowly made its way onto the Prince's face.

You didn't really think he had actually been upset and distraught, had you?

Of course not. Aires was nothing if not a good actor.

He was a master of controlling his emotions.

If his father could think of other things than alcohol and his cock for just a minute, he would have realized how odd it was for Aires to have shown such expression at the revelation. Alas, the King had never watched over any of his children intently as they grew up. As such, he had missed these things over the years, talents that the prince had perfected and honed to mastery.

Whose idea was it originally for him to foster with the Tyrell's for a year?

Why his of course!

Aires had important business in the Reach and across the Seven Kingdoms that, right now, he couldn't safely conduct while at King's Landing. Critical deals, alliances, meetings, and most importantly, certain personal projects.

The Reach would provide a far better landscape for these things. Away from the intrigue and manipulation that infected the capital, Aires would have far more leeway to operate as he wished.

He would be leaving behind the immense power he had wielded for four years in the Crownlands, and he had weighed that cost against the advantages. Eventually, he had come to a decision. In the near future, the Reach offered what he needed most. The Crownlands, though critically important, would not be able to support him when push came to shove, no matter the work he had done in cementing his own power in the region. Highgarden, well that was another matter entirely.

Naturally, Olenna Tyrell had been all too willing to play along with the ruse. The very presence of Aires Baratheon in the Reach's capital would translate into multiple different profits just on the surface.

Furthermore, Robert would perceive this, correctly, as one more attempt to separate himself from his favorite son for his wife's benefit. This was just another element of many that would play directly into his hand. Not for now, but in the future.

For now, Aires was left in the position as being but the second child to the King, leaving him second in the line of succession. Of course, this was not entirely accurate, but it was what the realm believed and it was what Cersei told doubters to believe. He wouldn't lose his head this early in the game by needlessly exposing it without the proper plan put in place.

All the consequences of him being shipped off to Highgarden, as it would seem, would serve to his advantage.

The past six years had been peaceful, but little by little, the realm was brining itself closer to the verge of war. Every moon, tensions were growing and lords put more and more attention into preparing their retainers and levies.

All the players of the game realized that the war would not be cold for much longer. All factions were gearing up for open conflict, and none were focusing too much on hiding it.

The Lannisters were cementing their power over King's Landing and the Royal Court.

The Greyjoys were rebuilding the powerful Iron Fleet and their raiders were seen for the first time in a decade sailing as far east as Slaver's Bay.

The secession movement was steadily building power in the North. Already, half a dozen lords had secretly petitioned the Lord Paramount Eddard Stark to declare independence from the Iron Throne.

In Dorne, the blacksmiths and the forgers stayed open at night to begin stockpiling the Martel's war arsenals.

The Reach was investing their considerable influence in the Stormlands and constructing dozens of new watchtowers and army camps along their border with the Westerlands.

The Riverlands were facing new internal security problems and House Tully was divided at the stem.

Over in Essos, the Targaryen children had taken refuge in the home of the Magistar of Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis.

Pressure was building on all sides and old rivalries were being reignited. All it would take was one spark, and the Seven Kingdoms would be engulfed in wildfire.

Nobody would be safe, and power would be up for grabs by all who craved it.

He, Aires, would not limit himself to remaining but the second son of the House Baratheon for his life. No, the power at his finger tips proved that he was something bigger than that. It was his personal claim to power, the thing that certified every action he had taken so far in his life.

The courtiers that surrounded him were not meant to rule. They would forever be stuck in the little games that they played, always striving for the power to sit upon an old throne of swords. Aires saw the bigger picture. He saw a world with tall buildings that reached into the sky, and machines that allowed humans to conquer the heights of the skies and the bottoms of the oceans.

It was his destiny to bring the world of Westeros into a greater future. For if not him, who?

His brother Joffrey? No. He would rather see the world burn if only he could be the one to set it on fire.

Tommen? Not him either. He was content to play with his cats in the corner while power was passed freely around him.

His father was a fool; his mother was spiteful and narrow minded; Stannis saw only the rigid lines of Justice; Renly would never leave his little tourney fields. 

Perhaps, if there was a worthier candidate for power, Aires would be content to stand besides them. But no, that was not to be. True power could not be trusted in the hands of these fools. If they were too weak to use it as it should be wielded, then it was his destiny to do so.

As a good friend of his always liked to say:

"Chaos is a ladder."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello all! Hope you enjoy this latest update.**

 **In this chapter, we explore the nature of life at the Red Keep, discover the first plot in this story, and see the full depths of Aires's own manipulations.**

 **In the reviews to the Introduction to this story, many people questioned why Robert Baratheon would name his son "Aires", after the Mad King, "Aerys". This is explained in this chapter and hopefully, it satisfied you who were curious.**

 **I really do appreciate constructive criticism of my work. If there are errors, things that don't make sense, convoluted thoughts, please let me know and I will do my best to correct them. My work is never perfect, so please tell me when it's not.**

 **I also want to thank my beta Nathanael of House Willum for all his help editing this chapter. To any of you who would like to help out with this story, I welcome you to contact me.**

 **Finally, this story will include a large number of original characters. These range from being soldiers, administrators, merchants, sellswords, to prostitutes. Please submit names and descriptions of characters I can use.**

 **Feel free to ask questions and please favorite, follow, and review. Thanks to all who have done so!**

 **See you next time,**

 **Greysider**


	3. Chapter 2: The Royal Family

**CHAPTER 2 - Royals**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **Story Premise:**

 **Aires of the House Baratheon, first of his name, is the second son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. In a world of fire and ice, he must carefully tread the waters of power as he strives to climb his way to the top. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, he must hide the truth of a past life to survive the great game and emerge victorious from the ashes.**

* * *

 **Chapter Summary:**

 **Aires Baratheon faces the strains of living another life and interacts with the Royal Family, including his mother the Queen Cersei.**

* * *

 **Last Chapter:**

 _He, Aires, would not limit himself to remaining but the second son of the House Baratheon for his life. No, his ambition would not allow himself to do such a thing. It necessitated that he rise and claim ultimate power._

 _Operating within the confines of the status quo would get him nowhere. To break free the status quo had to be demolished and wiped off the face of the map._

 _As a good friend of his always liked to say:_

 _"Chaos is a ladder."_

* * *

 **4:00; Early Morning Hours**

 **12** **th** **Day of the Sixth Moon; 296 A.L.**

 **Aires Baratheon's Chambers; The Red Keep**

 **King's Landing, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms**

 _Blood. Pain. Fear._

 _He was pressed up against a dirty wall. His back, aching badly, scratched against the surface as he tried to move back as far as he could in his closet. Alas, the closet was small, and there was nowhere left to hide away in._

 _The ceiling was but a little more than a meter high. He had never been able to stand up straight in his "room". He was pushing himself again against the corner of the closet, begging desperately to be let be._

 _A large man was standing over him. He had brown eyes, fierce, aggressive, with the pupils dilated with just a shade of fear. He had clean and carefully combed hair, although it seemed as reactive as pure hate right now. His mustache was broad and curled up at its sides. In his hands was a long, flaming whip. Except it wasn't. It was a standard Clark's brown belt. There was no fire on the belt, no. But there was on his skin, oh yes, every time it came down striking on his unprotected skin. He was there, cowering in the corner of the small space, the walls covered in filth and spiders._

 _"Worthless freak!" The man yelled as the whip slashed down once again._

 _A flash of brown and then his arm ignited again, all the nerve senses combusting. He cried out in agony, his nerves flaring as his body spasmed in suffering._

 _"Nothing but a worthless useless freak, aren't you boy?"_

 _Again. Another strike. This time across his face. He doubled back further into the corner, even though there was no more space to go._

 _"Just a piece of filth and disgrace, just like your fucking parents aren't you?"_

 _Another strike. This time on his stomach. His hand reached down instinctively. The blood was pouring from all over his body. He couldn't see well. Shadows and red danced around his eyes._

 _He curled himself up in a fetal position, trying to protect himself the only way he knew how._

 _"A fucking waste of space, that's what you are!"_

 _This time on his leg. He was sure it was broken. All of his muscles screamed in pain. He yelled. He cried. He screamed. Nothing came of it. Please, he begged. Please!_

 _"A fucking freak like you doesn't deserve life! Worthless!"_

 _Just let me die, he screamed. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing did. Just the pain. It wasn't worth it. It never had been. He lay there, his cuts oozing blood around him, his only wish wanting to be granted the sweet release of death. Oh it would be marvelous. Whatever to end the pain._

 _He hoped his uncle would strike him harder next time. Maybe in the face to. The stronger the strike, the sooner he would faint in a pool of his own blood. That was preferable to living through it._

 _His whole world was blurry and distorted. He hedged a look down at his meek arm, seeing red running all over his skin. He couldn't concentrate anymore. His eyes began to glaze over as he felt his consciousness retreat in his mind._

 _"Ha! Don't you get it, boy? Even your freakish world just wants you to fucking die!"_

Green eyes shot open as the daylight from the morning entered into the bedroom. Realizing he had regained conscious thought, the solid unresponsive occlumency shields fell over him.

Aires Baratheon sat up on his bed, his face emotionless as his mind closed off all unnecessary thoughts. He reached silently across his large bed to grab two small vials of clear liquid on the bedside table. Closing his eyes, he poured them each down his throat, barely shivering when the familiar icy cold taste hit the back of his mouth. He was used to it. Very used to it. Taking them every morning for years on end built up that kind of resistance.

Nightmares, those he could control. His mastery of the early forms of occlumency allowed for such a thing. He rarely dreamed at all now some days. It was counterproductive to having a perfectly restful sleep, which he desperately needed considering how he woke up. Those, no those weren't nightmares. Those were memories. Those happened. They were real.

Occlumency gave one the ability to organize their mind in such a way that they could remember every single memory and feeling they ever had. For Aires, this was the brutal definition of a double edged sword.

Every night it changed. Another memory. More appropriately named: Another torture session. And with occlumency, he could feel everything. He could feel it when the best slashed against his arm and drew blood from splitting his skin apart up the ligaments. He could feel it when the pain overclouded his consciousness and he fell into blackness as he saw the fiery whip descend upon him. He could feel it all.

Perhaps, if he worked hard enough, he could shut those memories out. He could store them away in some far lost compartment of his brain, never to be found again. But he wouldn't do that, no he never would.

It was those memories, and the pain he felt from them, that gave him the determination, the persistence, and the sheer force of will to take control of his life. Those memories and the people involved in them he had left behind in another world, but he had never forgotten.

People often said that pain stunted the growth of a child. Physically, this was indisputably true. Aires' old body had been about a meter and a half tall, and he had always been meek. Being unable to stand straight in one's room, malnourishment, and abuse would do that to a person.

To the mind, however, he had never benefited more. His soul had matured through the pain, and it had crafted him into who he was today. Through the pain, he had mastered himself. And through himself, he had mastered others. And through mastering others, he had conquered his pain.

To completely vanquish his torture, he had had to evolve. And that was exactly what he had done.

Harry James Potter had evolved into Aires Baratheon.

Harry James Potter had been a weak boy. He had survived his pain, but he had been left stunted by it.

Aires Baratheon was strong and unyielding. He had conquered his pain.

Pain gave him a vision. Aires needed a vision, he lived for one. And so pain was his ally. He would suffer it and then bend it to his will, because his person demanded nothing less.

It served as a constant reminder of the reasons he had to continue, to push forwards. And he would never leave them behind.

He sat still for a minute or so, allowing the potions to run through his body. He felt their chill reach from the bottom of his spine to the crook of his neck, and back around. After he felt they had had sufficient time to take their effect, he slowly lowered his occlumency shields, allowing his mind to come back online properly.

He rose from his bed and moved over to put on some clothes. Most lords and royals would have servants attend to such menial tasks, but not Aires. Methodically, he dressed himself in proper attire and took a minute to observe himself in the mirror on the wall.

Quietly, he existed his chambers and made his way through the Red Keep. Most everybody was still sound asleep this time of the morning. The thirty to forty guards and other servants in close proximity to his chambers he trusted about these matters. Nevertheless, he always ensured there was nothing of significance they could reveal about him.

He was keenly aware of the dozens of spies and informants he passed on his way. They were pressed against the walls and hidden in the shadows. They pretend to be coming in drunk. They pretended to be having fun with maidens in the corners. They pretended to be on their way to deliver something. Some even were dressed up in armor and doubled as household guards and retainers.

He kept sliding forwards, not stopping to observe the antics of the men and women who carefully followed him from behind. Within a few short minutes he had reached his destination. He pulled open the door and felt his face being hit with the cool air of the early morning.

Outside it was still dark outside. Stars littered the map of the sky and all of King's Landing was a canvas of black. The few fires still burning bright at this hour were down near the various smithing and forging centers throughout the sprawling city.

His eyes shining bright in the darkness of the hour, he leaned forwards and placed his hands on the railing of the balcony.

He would stand here, not moving, in this exact position, for the next hour to watch the sun rise.

Even after all of these years, his memories continued to haunt and plague him. Nobody would understand why he came here alone in the morning to watch the sunrise, but for him, it was monumental.

This is where he came to reassure himself and come to grips with his situation.

Unlike the character he played the part of for court life and for Westeros, Aires Baratheon was not unfeeling, nor was he made of cold stone.

He felt just as deeply as all the rest of them, even more so. This was the only place he could be honest with himself and ignore the harsh truths of life.

Sighing deeply, he lost himself in his thoughts and the pristine colors of the night.

* * *

 **8:00; Morning Hours**

 **The Red Keep**

Aires Baratheon walked calmly passed the guards, retainers, and nobles to the Royal Dining Hall.

He turned the corner and greeted the several nobles that dared to approach him to wish him a happy morning. He returned their meaningless words with a simple smile, complimenting them on their choice of clothes and their good form.

Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard, in his traditional resplendent gold armor, opened the door to the Hall for him as he walked on through.

The Royal Dining Hall was a comparatively small but stylishly decorated room in the Red Keep. Situated closer to the Residences than to the sections delegated to the court, it allowed a certain feeling of privacy from the prowling eyes of nobility. In this hall, they only had to concern themselves with the prowling eyes and thoughts of each other.

They of course being the Queen and her children. Well, the King's children, if you wanted to take the official position.

Cersei, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Consort to King Robert Baratheon, and heiress to the House Lannister, looked beautiful as the sunlight danced on her gorgeous figure. Her golden locks of hair shined as the dangled loosely from her hair. Her blue robes clung tightly to her body, accentuating her elegant curves and her youthful body.

At the present date, she was but 33 name days old. By the standards of the Order of Maester's, she still had two or three years of solid childbirth left to her. These were how noble women's ages were characterized throughout most of Westeros. Even in her comparatively advanced age, she was still considered the most beautiful woman in all the continent. Then again though, Aires couldn't imagine anyone else daring to claim the title for themselves.

Aires, for the life of him, would never understand why Robert had thrown to the side a woman as beautiful and gorgeous as his mother for all his whores. Actually, scrap that, he understood it perfectly.

Nevertheless, his father had shown himself to be the fool he was when he had forsaken Cersei's love for the memories of a dead Stark girl. Perhaps, if he had chosen the alternative, the Seven Kingdoms would be in a different place than they were now. Aires had no doubt about that. No matter, one couldn't change the past, and it was useless to contemplate the effects of doing so.

The past was to be remembered and analyzed, but not contemplated. The present was for action. The future was the land of vision.

The Queen Lioness sat relaxed on one of the two golden chairs at the far side of the main table from where Aires was standing. She had one arm placed gently on the left armrests while she picked at her food with her right. Her crown was situated lightly on her head, the large green emerald standing out from the center of it.

To her right sat who other but his highness the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Joeffrey of the House Lann . . . cough, cough . . . Baratheon.

His light blonde hair was a noticeable feature, the other being his facial expression. It was hard to describe, even for Aires. It was like a combination of boredom and revulsion, with a mixture of imaginative gore. You could see the wheels of his mind working through his eyes, and Aires had no doubt they promised nothing good for anyone.

He too was picking at his food, making snarky and demeaning comments at his siblings every once in a while.

Talking about siblings, there they were, sitting with their backs facing him at the entrance. Tommen and Myrcella Baratheon, or as Aires called them, the "innocent kids". He couldn't come up with anything better, but he felt as though that covered them well enough.

They were both quiet. Their shoulders were hunched and their eyes never strayed from their food as their mother stared at their forms.

Out of the four, he was the only one to hold the famous pitch black hair of the Baratheon house. His mother had made sure he was keenly aware of this fact from the day he could understand words, and his father had never failed to compliment him on his "luck".

There had always been tensions between he and his mother that had not existed between her and his siblings. He of course knew the reason why.

Welcome to the Royal Family. A power hungry, jealous, and conceited mother. A spoiled, narcissistic, psychopathic crown prince. A small and naive little girl. A timid and innocent little boy. An absent father. That about summed it up.

And himself of course. Aires the Wise some had already began to call him. He would be more than happy to detail a history of his knowledge and achievements, but he had some grains of modesty left somewhere inside of him. He didn't know where he had inherited those from, since both of his parents had no shards of it left to themselves.

Talking about his father, it was unsurprising that his father was not present to join them to break their fast.

If you knew Robert Baratheon, then you would know that he wasn't a family person, not by a long stretch.

Stannis was kept at a distance. A cold military minded person, he interacted with the King like cement with water. Robert had never put any faith into his brother and consistently put him down in favor of their younger brother Renly. Even with Renly, though, the King was disgusted at everything his youngest sibling did. The result was a hostile and dysfunction familial relationship between the three. Of course, Aires took advantage of this as often as possible.

Aires guessed that losing one's parents at such a young age would have done that to many. Robert and his brother Stannis had seen their parents Steffon and Cassana drown with their ship off the coast of Storm's End. They had watched the ship sink from the coast, the image of it disappearing into the waves most likely forever imprinted in their minds.

His footsteps reverberated in the relatively small hall as he moved forwards to the table, a genial expression portrayed for his good family.

His mother turned her attention to him as he approaches the long table, her honey sweet smile opening for her son.

"Ah, Aires," she called out to him as he drew closer, "I feared you wouldn't come down to eat with us,"

The prince did not bother to respond but instead sat down next to Tommen across from his mother.

He could feel the young kid's eyes on him immediately, so he turned just slightly to smile at the boy. Tommen's face lit up at seeing his best brother sit down next to him. One might think it ridiculous, but for a boy who was emotionally abused by his oldest brother for most of his life, getting support, no matter how small it was, from his other brother, was important to him.

He shifted in his seat to look his mother, whose plain green eyes were fixed on him and him alone. He saw Joeffrey scowl at him behind Cersei's robes, but he paid the boy no matter.

"I was attending to some duties, mother," he replied to her as leaned in and rested his hands on the table, "I came down as quickly as I could."

"I'm sure," she commented back, just a hint of obvious disbelief in the back of her throat.

Aires called out for a servant to bring him some food, and was rewarded when a large plate soon arrived in front of him. He dug into his meal, hungry as he was, silently observing his siblings and his mother.

Cersei leaned back in her chair, he stare moving from child to child every few moments or so. That smile on her face, that was pride. Yes, she was prideful of her children. Aires knew better than to fall to such levels.

The Queen counted herself as the great mother lioness, watching over all of her children as she took care of them and built up the realm for their ascension. How more wrong could she be.

Aires wouldn't shake his head and snort with this company around him, but he took pleasure in knowing that his mother was a fool. A smart fool perhaps, but still a fool.

She, like Pycelle and many others, had been playing the game for too long. She had been playing for so long, she had gotten lost in it. The cyclical nature of the game has swept her up in its powerful waves as they kept her moving forwards.

"And might I ask where my uncle is, mother?" He asked, biting into a slice of bread as he did so.

Cersei's face darkened for but a moment, before her calming smile returned to her face.

"Unfortunately, uncle Jaime is otherwise detained with your father," she spoke sweetly.

Aires smiled back at her in acknowledgement. You see this was Cersei's mistake. She assumed that her children were all too young to play the game. Therefore, she took it upon herself to play it for them.

Joeffrey ignored the game, and so in his circumstance she was correct. Tommen and Myrcella were both players but were as of yet uneducated on the rules, or lack thereof, and so couldn't play. There again, she was in the right.

Cersei Lannister had failed when it came to her second eldest, however. You see, he had been playing the game since the day he was born. At first, he had been too young to do anything, but it gave him the proper time to learn how to play. All this time, as his mother refused to acknowledge his entry onto the playing field, he was working his way up the ladder.

She was a stubborn women, unable and unwilling to accept things that contradicted her vision of the world. And this was why she was a fool.

Everybody had visions of the world, this was how one played the game. It was how one manipulated the world to fit those visions that determined the winners and the dead.

The Queen, though, went about it differently. She wouldn't manipulate the world to fit her vision, she would manipulate reality to justify it for herself. Her position and power gave her the ability to play this way for now, but soon it would fail her.

In her vision of the world, none of her children would have to play the game. She wished to shepherd them from it. That was a weak vision, and she knew it. It was why she lashed out at her enemies and tried to project strength from herself. With Aires, she failed. He knew her well, and he knew her well enough to know that she was an amateur game player.

One day, sometime far off in the future, her moves would fail her. And then the starving animals would fall on the wounded lion and tear her apart until nothing was left but blood and bones. Such was her fate.

Most of the meal was spent in relative silence. Occasionally, Cersei would break the quiet to ask meaningless questions of her children, of which the answers were all short and brief. Then, as the silver plates began to clear and the pace of eating crawled to a halt, she spoke up again.

"Sweat Tommen, the Maester tells me that you're having some trouble with your letters darling,"

Tommen's face went red and he tried to hide himself in his chair. Joeffrey let out a barking laugh and smirked viciously at his youngest brother. Cersei ignored her firstborn. Myrcella likewise stayed silent, deciding that inaction in this case was the better part of valor.

"Tommen . . . " she repeated, still waiting for an answer.

"I guess," the young boy began.

"You guess what?" Cersei interjected.

Tommen didn't say anything, just gulped. He hated situations like this. His mother would put him on the spot for these kinds of things in front of all of his siblings

He didn't argue that the point of her statement. Indeed, he had been shirking off some of his reading lessons. Pycelle was a terrible teacher and he still had difficulty making out even the easiest of words on paper.

Then again though, he was only a boy of eight name days. He was pretty sure Joffrey hadn't learned how to fully read when he was eight. Aires probably had.

But Aires was . . . Aires.

Leave it at that.

The other royal servants that helped the young prince with his lessons were all bumbling fools. That was what Aires called them anyways. They always stuttered in his presence and danced around everything, afraid to commit to anything resolutely. He doubted they even knew how to properly read sometimes.

He didn't have to be told he was a failure; he already knew it. His oldest brother never failed to inform him of that fact and his parents never did anything to disprove it. Well, his father didn't really even talk to him anymore, and with his mother always doting on Joffrey like a gold dragon, well, who was there to give him any kind of self-motivation.

Well Aires, of course, but that was only sometimes. His brother had other things to take care of, he knew that. Plus, Aires never did do anything that would outright put him in a confrontation with Joffrey or their mother. Tommen understood that well enough.

Sometimes, though, when his mother or father weren't on him, Aires would go to him and talk about seemingly inconsequential things. Tommen liked these moments he spent with his brother, certainly more than the times with his mother or father. He loved them, he truly did, but only Aires would ever treat him as anything else than a baby. His mother would patronize him and cry over every bruise he got. His father, well he barely saw the man, but when he did, he was always disappointed in him, as if he was weak and a failure.

When they were both alone, his brother treated him as if he were just another person. They would talk of music, and nature, and random servants and people they observed around the Red Keep. Tommen lived for these moments, truly. When he wasn't being babysat by his mother or just laughed at by his father, Aires provided that refuge he needed.

But Aires was . . . Aires.

Leave it at that.

The other royal servants that helped the young prince with his lessons were all bumbling fools. That was what Aires called them anyways. They always stuttered in his presence and danced around everything, afraid to commit to anything resolutely. He doubted they even knew how to properly read sometimes.

He didn't have to be told he was a failure, he already knew it. His oldest brother never failed to inform him of that fact and his parent's never did anything to disprove it. Well, his father didn't really even talk to him anymore, and with his mother always doting on Joeffrey like a gold dragon, well, who was there to give him any kind of self-motivation.

Well Aires, of course, but that was only sometimes. His brother had other things to take care of, he knew that. Plus, Aires never did do anything that would outright put him in confrontation with Joeffrey or their mother. Tommen understood that well enough.

Still though, Aires was never there to back him up in times like these. With his mother putting him right on the spot, he was going to die of shame before he reached his tenth name day!

"I'm sorry I haven't been performing well enough mother," he squeaked out, unable to meet anybody's eyes.

Out of the corner of his view, he could see his mother scowl and huff. Joeffrey's grin was maniacal and he let out another laugh.

Tommen looked up at Aires, hoping the boy would help him here.

Aires gave a small smile at his younger brother and then returned to finishing off the remnants of his meal, wiping his mouth with a cloth afterwards.

Cersei huffed and turned to look at Myrcella, who was similarly avoiding her mother's gaze.

Then, her brilliant smile returned as she faced Aires.

"Aires, dear," she spoke to him softly, "Won't you talk to me in my chambers, I have some things to discuss with you."

Aires nodded but remained seated for the moment as his mother rose from her chair.

"Unfortunately mother," he pronounced, "I have some business to attend to in my chambers."

Again, Cersei's smile vanished from her face. She stared at her son, more hurt than anything else.

Aires might have felt some sympathy for her if he didn't know she was faking it. She needed to work on her reactions, they weren't quite on par with his own. Her pride and confidence in her own superiority led to that he supposed.

"Perhaps later today," he commented.

Now he pushed his plate away and rose from his seat. Giving nice smiles to all four of them, he strode off towards the door, Cersei's eyes locked on his back as he moved farther from her every step he took.

Joeffrey seemed like he was about to yell at his brother to get back to the table, but Cersei silenced him with a look before he opened his mouth. Instead, she turned to Myrcella with that sweetly smile of hers.

The Princess tried to smile back, failing miserably to the evidence of her brothers.

"Well," the Queen said, "Let us all get on with our activities for the day, no. We all have things to do after all,"

Joeffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella looked at her hesitantly as she too walked out the hall towards her chambers, some servants following swiftly behind her.

With their mother gone, Joeffrey leered down at his siblings.

"Well," he drawled, "What are we waiting for . . . "

Without a second passing, they both stood up and rushed out of the room as quickly as they could, leaving Joeffrey the last one sitting at the table, a smirk plastered over his face.

Welcome to the life of the Royal Family.

* * *

 _ **"The History of the Royal Family" A Series by Samuel Tarly, Archmaester of History**_

 **Excerpt from Chapter 2; Book 13: "The Reign of Robert of the House Baratheon** _ **"; Pages 35-37**_

 _King Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, Queen Cersei Lannister, Joffrey 'Baratheon', Aires Baratheon, Myrcella 'Baratheon', and Tommen 'Baratheon' were the first and only Baratheon Royal Family to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Their collective reign on the Iron Throne represented one of the most dramatic periods in Westerosi history. The political, societal, and social changes that occurred under the Baratheon monarchy, specifically towards the end of their reign, were monumental in shaping the history of the continent for decades after._

 _His Grace, Robert of the Houses Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, was born on the 10th day of the 9th moon in the year 262 of Aegon's Landing. He was born to the head of the House Baratheon and the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Steffon Baratheon, and Lady of the House Baratheon, Cassana Baratheon nee Estermont, at the Castle of Storm's End, the Provincial Capital of the Stormlands territory. He was born blue of eyes and black of hair. After the death of his Lord Father in the year 278, Robert was fostered by his relative Jon Arryn, head of the House Arryn and Lord Paramount of the Vale of Arryn. He fostered under Lord Jon Arryn for two years after ascending to the Iron Throne in the year 281._

 _Her Grace, Cersei of the House Lannister, Queen Consort of the King, was born on the 8th day of the 2nd moon in the year 263 of Aegon's Landing. She was born to the head of the House Lannister and the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Tywin Lannister, and the Lady of House Lannister, Joanna Lannister, Tywin's cousin, at the Castle of Casterly Rock, the seat of House Lannister. She was born green of eyes and blonde of hair. First promised to His Highness the Prince of the Realm Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, Cersei was married to His Grace Robert in the year 281._

 _His Highness, First Prince of the House Baratheon and future King of the Realm Joffrey of the House 'Baratheon', then Crown Prince of the Iron Throne, was born on the 14th day of the 9th moon in the year 281 of Aegon's Landing. He was born in the capital of King's Landing, green of eyes and blonde of hair._

 _His Highness, Second Prince of the House Baratheon and later King of the Realm Aires of the House Baratheon, was born on the 31st day of the 6th moon in the year 282 of Aegon's Landing. He was born in the capital of King's Landing, green of eyes and black of hair._

 _His Highness, Third Prince of the House Baratheon and future King of the Realm Tommen of the House 'Baratheon', was born on the 10th day of the 4th moon in the year 288 of Aegon's Landing. He was born in the capital of King's Landing, green of eyes and blonde of hair._

 _Her Highness, First Princess of the House Baratheon Myrcella of the House 'Baratheon', was born on the 28th day of the 1st moon in the year 287 of Aegon's Landing. She was born in the capital of King's Landing, green of eyes and blonde of hair._

 _The Royal Family of Robert Baratheon is most interesting to study primarily because it is this House that set in motion the events that would come to reshape the face of Westeros and even the continent of Essos._

 _In determining the causes of the War of Kings and other geopolitical conflicts that occurred near the end of and after the 3rd-century A.L., the relationship between King Robert and Cersei is important. The relationship, historians have accounted, was a microcosm of the underlying tensions and problems that underset the realm during their reign._

 _From the beginning, it is said that the relationship between King and Queen Consort was non-existent. Though it is known that Cersei Lannister had awaited the marriage to the new King eagerly, it is unknown was event immediately inserted the disinterest and confrontation that was later seen throughout the marriage. There is a popular rumor that the Royal Archives secretly maintain access to the relevant information, such claims have never been proven or disproven either by the Royal Archives or the Royal Family._

 _The second relationship that is important to the War of King's and especially its aftermath is the one between the Second Prince, Aires Baratheon, and the rest of the Royal Family. Prince Aires was an uncommonly skilled young man, and in many fields. As the Prince that would rise to power after the fall of the Baratheon Monarchy, his early actions and life have long been the subject of investigation of historians, soldiers, nobles, and smallfolk alike._

 _Much is known about Prince Aires's childhood. As another rarity, the Prince and many of those close to him held journals, where they tended to inscribe and note down their thoughts frequently. Though the personal journal of the former Prince himself has yet to be released by the Royal Archives, the writings of many of his former associates, friends, confidants, and loyalists is present in multiple forms._

 _Chapters 3 and 4 shall be devoted to the detailed relationship between the King and Queen Consort, while Chapters 5 and 6 shall respectively cover the early life of Prince Aires Baratheon._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello all! Hope you enjoy this latest update.**

 **In this chapter we are able to see some of the scars that Aires wears with him and dive into the life of the Royal family. We gain some insight into some character's thinking's and lay the ground for future interactions.**

 **I really do appreciate constructive criticism of my work. If there are errors, things that don't make sense, convoluted thoughts, please let me know and I will do my best to correct them. My work is never perfect, so please tell me when it's not.**

 **I also want to thank my beta Nathanael of House Willum for all his help editing this chapter. To any of you who would like to help out with this story, I welcome you to contact me.**

 **Finally, this story will include a large number of original characters. These range from being soldiers, administrators, merchants, sellswords, to prostitutes. Please submit names and descriptions of characters I can use.**

 **I would like to thank Abigale Cross, for contributing the information of an OC character. He will be present in the next chapter.**

 **Feel free to ask questions and please favorite, follow, and review. Thanks to all who have done so!**

 **See you next time,**

 **Greysider**


	4. Chapter 3: A Garden of Thorns

**CHAPTER 3 - A Garden of Thorns**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **Story Premise:**

 **Aires of the House Baratheon, first of his name, is the second son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. In a world of fire and ice, he must carefully tread the waters of power as he strives to climb his way to the top. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, he must hide the truth of a past life to survive the great game and emerge victorious from the ashes.**

* * *

 **Chapter Summary:**

 **The scene of Highgarden and the Tyrell family is introduced through Dowager Lady Olenna Tyrell nee Redwyne and the 'Rose' of the Reach, Margaery Tyrell.**

* * *

 **Last Chapter:**

 _With their mother gone, Joffrey leered down at his siblings._

 _"Well," he drawled, "What are we waiting for . . . "_

 _Without a second passing, they both stood up and rushed out of the room as quickly as they could, leaving the Crown Prince the last one sitting at the table, a smirk plastered over his face._

 _Welcome to the life of the Royal Family._

* * *

 **Morning Hours**

 **21** **st** **Day of the Sixth Moon; 296 A.L.**

 **Chambers of the Dowager Lady**

 **Highgarden, The Reach**

In the distance, the crimson sun was setting over the western horizon. The last light of the day giving way to the cold of night. Down in the sprawling city of Hazelton, situated below Highgarden Castle, street sellers and shop owners were preparing to end another day's business and get back to their homes or to a tavern to drink away their problems. The daily routine of life in the Flower of the Reach ground onwards, leaving an old dowager to look over the world as it rotates around itself.

At times, she was jealous of the smallfolk down there in Hazleton, able to ignore the truths of the world and live their lives in freedom. Of course, such thoughts existed solely to distract her from the labors of court life. Even after all these decades, she still felt the rush of pleasure at the great game of intrigue and lies. She cracked a smile staring down at the town, wondering if they even realized what was going on outside the limits of their small lives. No, she supposed not.

The Dowager Lady of House Tyrell, Olenna of the House Redwyne, mother to Lord Paramount Mace Tyrell of the Reach, watched the sun set from her window sipping hippocras from a golden goblet engraved with the Tyrell rose, the symbol of their house. At one point, she raised the cup to her eyes, inspecting the perfectly crafted flower upon it. With a roll of her eyes, she set it down at a small table by her side and returned her attention to the beauty of the landscape.

She had always thought the rose to be an absurd insignia for one of the seven Great Houses of Westeros. What did it represent again? Ah, yes. "Growing Strong". Whatever in the seven hells that meant. Why the rose was more suitable to one of those brothels down in Hazelton than any noble family! She supposed it was one of the sacrifices when she had decided to seduce Luthor all those years ago, having to live with that damn rose forever!

Everywhere she went she was surrounded by roses. Gods she couldn't escape them! They were on her bedsheets, on the paintings on the wall, on the furniture. Even on her damn cups! She would murder a man these days with her own two hands just to be gifted with a lily flower!

House Tyrell was the King's Wardens of the South and the House Paramount of the Reach, the most prosperous and populated Kingdom in Westeros, the House of the Most Faithful, and the image of chivalry throughout the realm. And they held a rose as their sigil? Pathetic.

Sure she could understand the value of the words. Yet as an image to project to those around them, it bred content and satisfaction, not quite the effect Olenna wished to have upon her vassals.

House Tyrell hadn't always been the power that it was today. Back when Westeros had truly been Seven Kingdoms the Reach had been ruled by House Gardner, the Tyrells serving as mere stewards. The Tyrells had served faithfully and well but were still nothing but glorified servants. That had all changed with Aegon's Conquest and House Gardener's utter destruction on the Field of Fire. With their liege lords dead, courtesy of dragon fire, House Gardener's steward, Harlen Tyrell, had yielded Highgarden without a fight to the Dragon King's army. As a reward by the young King, Harlen's House, that of Tyrell, was raised to rule over the Reach. House Tyrell had been slowly accumulating power for three centuries, and it was not about to stop now.

The situation in Westeros was delicate. The slightest action could throw the entire realm at chaos. The fires would burn from the Arbor to White Harbor, and no kingdom would be spared of the violence. Such was the reason Olenna had to act carefully, as she always had. The great game was coming to a climax, and she was hastily reshuffling her cards to leave her with the best deck when the time came to play them all.

Aires Baratheon was such a card. The Prince would be arrived in Highgarden in a few week's time, taking into account the slow pace of travel of the Roseroad. The Black Prince, as he was already called amongst those favorable to him in the Reach, was as strong an asset as any to have under her thumb. While it was true that the second son of the Crown was not set to inherit any of the real power behind the Iron Throne, Aires was a different story entirely.

Without any army or family name, Olenna thought she could still expect to see the Prince rise to power in a time of war. With the name Baratheon behind him and the loyalty of tens of thousands, whether publicly or privately, would make him a powerful force to reckon with.

Back when he had visited the Reach for the first time, what was that, six years ago, he had immediately made an impression on the vassal lords. Aires had known exactly what moods to take with each individual lords, customizing himself for their favor. It was a spectacle Olenna hadn't ever seen before. He was witty with Lord Mattis of House Rowan, subdued with Randyll Tarly, cheerful with Horman Norcross, even flattering with Lady Alyssane Middlebury. He had played them all exactly how they wanted to be played, and none of them could complain about it.

The reason why? Aires truly was all of those things. He was witty, subdued, cheerful, and flattering and so much more. He was all of those combined. Still to this day, Olenna had never truly felt confident in the predictions she made about the young prince. Now that was a case with Lords few and far between.

She knew that Aires had open ended invitations to at least half the keeps this side of Westeros. Not that he would have been denied, due to his status, but nobody had hounded Crown Prince Joffrey with letters begging him to visit.

As such, it had been a masterful move on her part to organize for Prince Aires to visit Highgarden once more. It would be his third time here. Of course, she was fully responsible for the Prince's imminent arrival. It was he, after all, that had reached out to her to organize the plan.

At the end of the day it resulted in House Tyrell's more competent vassals pleased with her, distracted her oaf of a son Mace, made King Robert the "Brute" fell more isolated and penned in, gave some sense of false security to Queen Cersei, and left the Crownlander Houses fuming at the Royal Family managing, somehow, to let their prized liege steward fall through their hands.

All in all a good day's work for the Black Prince and the Queen of Thorns, no?

No matter the appearances of it all, Aires being in Highgarden would serve her well, very well indeed.

Olenna and the Prince would work well with each other, she knew that much. She would use him and his leverage to enhance her standing amongst the Reach vassals, as well as allowing her access to perhaps the most valuable member of the royal family. For his part, Aires would use her to fend off his regional enemies and allow him the space he needed to pursue those special projects he was always up to. For the moment, nothing was certain, but having Aires besides her was very important, especially in these dangerous times.

Her mouth permanently settled in that ever amusing smirk of hers, she exited her rooms and made her way down the long and sprawling hallways of Highgarden. She had a granddaughter she needed to talk to.

* * *

 **Chambers of the Lady Margaery**

 **Highgarden, The Reach**

Lady Margaery, the "Rose" of House Tyrell, sat calmly as her cousin, Elinor, ran a brush through her brown locks of hair. She sighed in content as she felt the brush went through her hair again, looking at herself in the mirror with a bright smile.

Margaery had bright green eyes, sometimes with hint of sparkle in them especially when she was plotting something. She had high cheekbones, as befitting most nobles, and smooth white skin. Her golden brown locks of hair were wrapped in a tight bun behind her head, a few strands left to lay on her back to enhance her beauty. Her smile though, now that was Margaery's distinguishable feature. Her rose red lips were placed in the perfect blend of a smile and smirk, accentuating both her gentle kindness and her devious intrigue.

She looked up in the mirror, admiring her cousin for a second as the girl continued to slowly do her hair. Elinor was pretty, that was certain. She would never have the kind of alluring and illustrious beauty that she herself had, but her cousin was pretty nonetheless. With a nice body and doe like brown eyes, she was sure to attract a handsome man when she grew a bit older.

Elinor Tyrell was the daughter of Theodore and Lia Tyrell, nee Sherry, one of the many cadet branches of House Tyrell of Highgarden. It had been common practice in the Tyrell house to make cadet ladies the handmaidens to the daughter of Highgarden, as was the case now.

Elinor was not her only handmaiden, though. Her two other cousins, Megga and Alla, also served in that role. Of them, Megga was the oldest, with Elinor in the middle, and Alla at the bottom. Elinor herself was but thirteen namedays old, not yet having flowered into a young lady. She would soon though. Margaery would help guide her through the process. She was kind that way.

It was the nice to have the three girls always taking care of her. They were kind ladies, and they looked up to her as a role model, as they should of course. Margaery would never admit it, but her lifestyle was one that invariably formed her more self-centered traits. No matter, she always reminded herself that she was just a small player in a much larger game, and that knowing such was necessary to survive in the world. But she would enjoy the little pleasures the girls provided for now. They were not old enough for her sharp wisdom yet.

Eventually, Elinor lay her hand on Margaery's shoulder, rubbing it slightly to gain her attention.

"Hmm," she hummed, the girl having woken her from her idle thoughts.

Elinor smiled at her through the mirror.

"Milady is all ready, cousin," she replied, "You are due at court with your lord father, grandmother, and brothers in but under an hour."

Margaery turned in her seat: "And where shall you be?"

Elinor gave a slight shrug and moved off to find something on the other side of the room.

"Most likely with Alla," came the reply, "She needs my attention even more than you do Milady!"

Margaery was about to reply with a joke about Elinor being perpetually bound to attention when the door to her chambers swung open, and her grandmother strode through the doorway, her long blue robes following her.

"Grandmother!" Margaery exclaimed with fake shock, "You've always told me to knock on doors before entering!"

Elinor gave out a slight chuckle in the corner while she folded on of her lady's dresses back into a trunk.

Dowager Olenna gave a huff and entered in anyways, waving her hand to dismiss her granddaughter.

"Dear Elinor, won't you leave me with my dear granddaughter for some time?" she asked to the handmaiden, without moving her eyes from Margaery.

Elinor smiled again and bowed before both of them.

"Of course, miladies," she acknowledged as she left the room and closed the door behind her, ensuring some degree of privacy for the two Tyrell women.

Margaery stood up and took her grandmother's hand, slowly leading her over to a wooden table in the next-door room.

When they were both seated, and Olenna had plucked one of the plump plums from the fruit basket on the table, she lost her smile and her face turned serious.

"You should know, I've secured the wardship of a very important player for the next year or so."

Unlike her grandmother though, Margaery simply smiled wider, always pleased at hearing news of the game. Reaching out and seizing a plum for herself, she gave a coy look back to Olenna.

"Which one might I ask?"

The Lady Dowager took a small bite out of the fruit, wiping some of the juice off her mouth with a hand cloth, content to keep her dear Rose in suspense.

"You should know him well, haven't the two of you been exchanging letters ever since you and he met?"

Olenna thought she could see a moment realization appear on Margaery's face before it settled into a puzzled look.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be a bit more specific than that, grandmother. I exchange letters with a great many boys?

Olenna raised her eyebrows. "Maybe one with black hair and green eyes?"

Margaery's eyes widened in understanding.

"You can't mean . . .

\- And the one that has the King for a father." Olenna finished her thought for her.

Margaery's smile widened and she smirked back at her mentor.

"What a success, grandmother. I would ask how it was possible for you to achieve that?"

Olenna waved her hand at the girl, scoffing and taking a look around the room.

"I would think that you, of all people, would be very well aware of my skills!" she declared, before setting her hands down on the table and giving a knowing look to her granddaughter, "And don't pretend dear that you're only excited because of the leverage he brings to us!"

Now it was Margaery's turn to look away from Olenna's eyes, a faint red blush on her cheeks.

"I'm afraid I'm not aware what you're alluding to," she smiled back.

Olenna scoffed again, a look of utter amusement on her wrinkled features, "Don't play coy with me, girl, I'm far too old for that!"

Both shared a hearty chuckle. The mentor and apprentice

"Now now girl," Olenna started again, this time with a more serious tone, "I would hope that you do recognize the opportunity his imminent arrival grants us."

Margaery straightened herself on the wooden chair and settled her expression.

"Of course," she replied, leaving behind the mirth in her voice from a moment ago, "We must do all we can to tie the Prince to us and our House."

"And you must play your part," Olenna noted back, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly.

Margaery smiled again, though this one was not nearly as authentic as the ones before.

"Aires and I mold together perfectly, I am sure it will not take long to entrap him in a rose's petals," she commented, as if talking airily about the wind.

"You mean yours's," Olenna struck back, not in anger, but just in confirmation.

"Aren't those two the same in one," Margaery countered, and her grandmother smiled once more.

"Indeed, indeed," she let out a hearty chuckle, "Just don't make sure the blooming rose gets carried away on the back of a stag!"

Margaery smiled again, but didn't deign her grandmother's comment with a response.

"Come now, dear," Olenna said, standing up, "Let us head down to check up on dear Garlan."

"Of course," she accepted, helping the older woman to her feet as they moved through the rooms.

Margaery opened the door to the hallways for her grandmother, holding her arm as they walked side by side.

Two guards standing watch outside her door, Tobias Fossoway and Darran Graves, fell into line behind them. Neither made any sound, simply marching as quietly as possible behind the two Tyrell woman.

Apart from Sers Tobias and Darran, the small host of attendants and handmaidens that served both the Lady Dowager and the Daughter of Highgarden followed, though at a slightly greater distance behind. This was the flock that Olenna never stopped referring to as 'hens'. It was an expression Margaery thought her grandmother used perhaps a bit too often. Yet, in a more intriguing way, it masked the importance of the flock and how Olenna used it for her own purposes.

All those maids and aides and courtiers, they all talked. They knew it well, and so too did Olenna. They talked of everything from the rumors concerning new arrivals at court to the movements of foreign houses to the activities of their family members in different parts of the Reach. It was all information, and it was all information that Olenna gathered from them. She pit them against each other, allowing the flock to fight it out for the chance to be closest to the wise old lady, and therefore closest to her influence.

Such was just one element of the great game. The chivalrous and aristocratic nature of the Reach made the Court of Highgarden unrivalled anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, excluding the Iron Throne of course. Nevertheless, the courtiers, lords, and diplomats who traveled to and fro the seat of the Tyrell's everyday provided fertile lands for intrigue and controversy. All throughout, Olenna and others who had learned to play the game wisely would use the court to get what they wanted from some and to dispose of the others.

On the days that Lord Tyrell, Mace that was, held court, dozens of high and minor lords would come to make their cases. There was a dispute here, some raiding bandits over there, a lost income due to this, a blood feud due to that. If one were not equipped to deal with the burdens of court, it was overwhelming. Mace would know this truth.

And then on top of that there were the hundreds of barons, counts, and sers that were always looking for ways to climb the ladder of nobility. Each and every one of them with their own desires and wants.

Her father was the man who called court, but there was never any doubt about who ran it. That would be both her grandmother and her brother: Olenna and Willas. Mace would seat in his massive chair in the Grand Hall, trying to portray his majestic might over the lords of the reach. Olenna would sit to his left, leaning back in her own chair, her eyes darting across the room to observe all those that dared to enter her presence. On the right would be Willas, her father's first son and the heir to the Lordship of Highgarden and the Lord Paramouncy of the Reach.

Willas was a sad case, really. He had been made a cripple at the tender age of 13. Mace, as befitting his limited intelligence, had thrust his first son into the tourneys at so long an age, probably hoping for the boy to be anointed as he entered teenage hood, the fool. In the Grand Tourney of Highgarden in 288 A.L., Willas had been put up against the Red Viper of Dorne, Oberyn Martell himself. Oberyn was a skilled fighter who was a master of multiple weapons and was said to be vicious in inflicting the maximum amount of pain on his enemies.

Both her mother and grandmother had begged Mace to withdraw Willas from the tourney, well Olenna ordered more than begged, but Mace would have none of it. "What a shame on our family if we cannot defeat our enemies!" he had thundered that day, defying Olenna in public in a way that would haunt him for years to come.

Indeed, Oberyn had succeeded in knocking young Willas off of his horse. Unfortunately, Willas had gotten his right foot trapped in his stirrup. What should have simply been a harsh fall from his horse turned into a catastrophe for House Tyrell.

The horse, pulled by the fall of its rider, fell onto Willas's leg, crushing it.

Though the maester of Highgarden, Lomys, had worked tirelessly in the weeks after to mend the broken bones, the leg would never be the same. Willas was left with one good leg, and one dead one.

Olenna had immediately hatched a plot to keep the affair quiet. She would have the maester declare that the leg had been fixed, and that divine intervention had saved Willas. Willas would be kept from future tourneys, and that would be the end of that. His mother Alerie had been more than willing to agree, and both of her older brothers had accepted to go along with the ruse.

Of course, having Mace Tyrell as a family member, and head of the family at that, tended to screw up any well made plans.

At the end of the tourney, Highgarden threw a final feast for its guests before they would return him. Drunk beyond imagination and ranting to his friends and enemies, Mace had raved about how the Gods had delivered a curse on his family through crippling his son and heir! "The blessed Seven have seen fit to strike me through my most hated enemies! Oh the irony!" he had screamed out loud. Willas had been sitting three chairs away.

Needless to say, Mace's foolish accidents had caused a veritable crisis for House Tyrell. "A Paramount House without an heir that can fight!? They should not be "Paramount" at all!" some had said.

It should never be underestimated how important the health and martial of a noble heir was to that house. It meant security and continuity. A crippled one meant uncertainty and risk. Risk that House Tyrell could scarcely afford, already being in a perilous relationship with the Royal Family and all the Reach's neighbors.

Olenna had swiftly taken charge, as usual in these situations. She had taken Willas under her wing, intent on teaching him how to be a proper lord. She had had him sit beside his father when he held court, letting him learn the ways of Highgarden politics and plays of power. Behind the scenes, she had called in numerous favors to keep House Tyrell in its vassal's good graces. The year 288 had certainly been a trying one for them all. At the end of the day, House Tyrell remained and would only grow stronger. Like a rose that would never stop blooming.

Willas would have to walk with a cane for the rest of his life, but he had found newfound power in his words and script. Through careful mentoring from Olenna, Maester Lomys, and the other scholars that served House Tyrell, he had achieved respect and honor without requiring a sword. Throughout the Reach, Willas had come to be known as having a sharp mind and keen eye towards the affairs of coin and the written word. He bred falcons, read poetry, and lived up to his reputation of a lord of the Reach through his good works to the poor and the ambitious alike. A reputation no doubt enhanced by agents of his grandmother and her allies.

Nevertheless, Willas would be a good and competent lord when his time came to take the seat that Mace sat on in the Grand Hall. He was respected, he was loved, and he was smart. Still though, the stigma of being a cripple would hang over him for the rest of his life. He would never be able to lead his men into battle, or defend his honor with a sword. He had made up for this in different ways, but even then it would never erase his loss.

Enough on Willas, though. Right now they were off to see her elder brother Garlan. If Willas was the pen of the family, then Garlan was its sword. He was the second born of the family and the knight of the family. Ser Garlan he was technically, but Olenna had had a landless hedge knight 'disposed' of when he had dared to demand the Lady Dowager use 'Ser' when addressing her grandson.

Garlan had been born in 276, just one year after Willas. In a weird way, Garlan was the heir that Mace had always wanted, but wanted nothing to do with the Lordship of the Reach. The man was the very definition of chivalry. He was a man of action, of bold, decisive action. He leapt into danger at the first sign of trouble and was always the first to escort the young ladies of Highgarden through the door. Margaery would roll her eyes at him half the time.

Whenever he was at the court capital, Garlan could usually be found in the training yard. He trained and battled with any who would have him. The highest lords to the lowest men-at-arms. His skill with his blade was unmatched by most in the realm, and no matter how humble he was, he did take an obscene amount of please in beating his opponents one after the other. It was a commonly held joke throughout the Reach that they could find Willas at the chair with a pen, Garlan at the training yard with a sword, and Loras at his mentor Renly's side with his . . . well you get the joke. Oh Loras.

Anyways, Olenna and Margaery made small conversation with each other as they walked down the hall. They talked of the tulips that had finally blossomed in the far side of the Castle's gardens. They talked of new styles and what the Queen was said to have worn last moon. They talked of the weather and the maester's predictions on when the summer season would finally come to a close.

With all the politics that followed the Tyrells around, it was necessary to maintain the cover of simplicity and harmlessness. Together they had carefully shaped and crafted the entire family image around this notion, some more willingly than others.

The Tyrell family was rich, they were popular, they were great and free in their own ways. There was Mace, the jovial man who laughed at all that was put in front of him. His wife Alerie, a beautiful girl who was apart from her looks, was quite useless. The crafty old dowager, who manipulate those around her like paper dolls. The heir Willas, the smart cripple. The second son Garlan, the brave fighter. The third son Loras, the fighter with benefits. And finally, Margaery, the gorgeous young charmer of the family.

Yet, behind the almost caricature nature of the Tyrell family lay an ambition that was unrivaled throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The jovial and content nature of the family provided a deceptive but no less useful cover screen for their activities behind the screen. They all had their own ambitions, and they all had their respective motivations.

Mace, behind his laughs and jokes, schemed to place his daughter upon the Iron Throne and wield power in the Westerosi capital. Willas ingratiated himself to all the lords and heirs of the Reach, wielding his power as the peaceful cripple to dispose of potential enemies before they even threatened him. Garlan took every opportunity possible to lead raids and campaigns against bandits and looters, showing little mercy in dealing with them, hoping for a true command of his own one day. Loras sought power for his own lover, but used his own influence to push favor towards the 'Prancing Stag'. Margaery, well, her ambitions were her own for now.

Soon enough, she and Olenna made their way onto a balcony looking over the training yards. The morning sun reflected brilliantly on the fields, allowing the Tyrell women a wonderful view at the dozens of knights training below them. The pack of courtiers and the several guardsmen that followed them spread out around them, all seeking a good viewing spot.

Down in the yard, Ser Vortimer Crane was yelling at a group of armored soldiers who were jointly going through duel positions. There was about 20 of them over there, their swords shining and their grey and green armor denoting their status as Tyrell retinues.

"Right arm . . . UP! Reverse pivot!" Crane shouted, and Margaery watched in appreciation as the unit hastened to comply with his directions.

"Aha!" someone yelled from the other side of the field, leaving the gathering of women to turn their heads to observe.

Indeed, a tall and well-built man, wearing not the usual plate armor but instead a chain mail vest, struck forwards with his rapier, making contact with his opponent's short sword. The clangs of metal reverberated in the air, the constant clash of iron on iron drawing attention from the surrounding area.

By contrast, the man's opponent did wear plate armor, his face concealed by a large helmet. They swords weaved back and forth, the longer rapier slashing against the stronger short sword. Thrust and block and thrust and black and back and forth.

Margaery smiled kindly, her brother truly was skilled. Garlan was wearing the chain mail right now, he never did like the clunky nature of a knight's traditional clothes. His own preference was towards lighter armor, which went in line with his preference for the thinner saber rather than a longsword or a double-handed blade. And he never wore a helmet when he didn't need to, never wanting to miss showing his beautiful face to a blushing maiden. Indeed, his long brown hair swung back from his head, the strands glistening in the light of the day as he swung forwards once more.

In the heat of the moment, the two swords made contact once more above Garlan's left shoulder and Margaery gave out a small cry of shock, glad that her brother had blocked the strike at the last moment.

Then, Garlan spun around, leaving his opponent's sword dangerously overextended. With another clang, knocking it too far out of reach, he twisted the saber in his hand and left the tip pointing right at the man's neck.

Silence filled the yard.

With a short barking laugh, the other knight take his helmet off his head and threw both it and his sword on the ground. Then, with a hearty congratulations, he moved forwards and shook hands with Garlan, who eagerly reciprocated the good feelings.

Margaery smiled in contentment, her fears once again disproved by her brother's dueling abilities. Even living in a family such as the Tyrells, she did care deeply for her brothers. Garlan, who was always at the front line and challenging any that would have him, did little to rest her nerves.

She made her way down the fields, a dozen or so other women following silently behind her, turning bright red when the big knights gave them appreciative looks. Garlan noticed her coming through, and opened his arms wide as he moved towards her. The other knights in the field returned to their duties, leaving the two Tyrell siblings to greet each other.

"Sister!" Garlan exclaimed, "So good for you to come down here this morning!"

Margaery embraced him lovingly, walking with him back to the barracks so he could clean himself up. They both shared small words as they made their way to one of the back rooms, where she sat patiently as her brother removed his chain mail tunic.

"Tell me, dear brother, who was it you were fighting earlier?" she asked simply, looking around the clean and polished room.

Garlan broke into a wide smile, winking at her.

"Oh oh, is my dear sister interested in a certain someone?"

She smiled and huffed at him, amused by his little jape.

"Most certainly not. I was simply wondering." she replied, keeping her voice cool and unemotional.

Garlan chuckled as he took his brown boots off and threw them across the room, leaning back against the wall.

"That was Ser Armond, if you must know." he commented, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Fallway, right?" Margaery replied, Garlan simply confirming with a short nod.

"You should get cleaned up, dear brother," she noted, "Court is to start in less than two hours."

"Oh my," he chuckled back, "Woe it is to be me in these trying times". He stood up, moving over to recover his formal clothes that he had deposited there earlier in the morning.

"Indeed, indeed," Margaery cracked a small smile at him, "And grandmother will be announcing the imminent arrival of a dear friend of ours."

"Oh?" Garlan question, his eyebrows furrowed, "And who could that be?"

Margaery let him wait in suspension for a moment, pretending to be distracted by watching another two knights clash swords back in the training yard.

"A name please?" Garlan pressed, always amused by his sister's mannerisms of holding conversations.

Finally, she turned her head to look at him, a sly smirk on her face.

"A Black Prince." she answered, her lips still conveying her glee at the fact.

"Ah," Garlan raised his eyebrows, taking the piece of news in.

Soon, he too broke out in smile. He looped his arm around his younger sister and walked back out of the barracks back towards the Grand Hall, making one final comment out of the range of their respective courtiers.

"Well that should make things interesting."

* * *

 _ **"A Short History of House Tyrell of the Reach"**_

 _ **A Tome arranged from "Important Historical Characters of the Great Awakening Period". Author unknown.**_

 **Excerpt from Part 4, Section I: "Olenna Tyrell nee Redwyne; Early Life and Defining Traits** _ **"; Pages 86-90**_

 _Olenna Redwyne was born to Runceford Redwyne and Daniella Redwyne nee Hightower on the 3rd day of the 4th moon of the year 226 of Aegon's Landing in the Arbor's County Castle. She was the second born child of Lord Runceford Redwyne, her older sister Viola being the firstborn. Two years later, a male heir would be born to House Redwyne, named Peytr, the future Lord of House Redwyne._

 _From birth, Olenna proved to be a very intelligent and quick learning. The masters serving House Redwyne, Maester Cerran and later Maester Dalran, noted that the young child was adept at numbers and reading from an early age. Maester Cerran, who historical records have shown secretly operated a smuggling operation in the Arbor, was particularly influential upon the young Olenna. Sources have documented that Maester Cerran seemed to have a very close relation with his charge, a handmaiden saying that the man viewed the Redwyne girl as his apprentice in training. There is no doubt that the future Dowager of House Tyrell learned much from her first teacher, seeing that Maester Carren's illegal activities were not found out until long about his death._

 _Likewise, Maester Dalran, who arrived in the Arbor in the year 236 after his predecessors passing, served as an influence in societal matters to his charge. His diary, found in the year 265 by a colleague at the Citadel of Oldtown, shows that Maester Dalran held a great appreciation for the small folk of the Reach. His writings reveal that he believed that, on a practical basis, the aristocracy of Westeros could never survive if the small folk realized that it depended on them. While most lords and historians agree that Maester Dalran's beliefs were overly idealistic, they were deeply impactful upon Olenna Tyrell. Though she was never known as a champion of the small folk, it is certain she cared for them a lot more than most Lords and Ladies of the time. It cannot be determined if she truly loved the small folk or not, but she certainly saw the importance of their support._

 _In the year 241, Lord Runceford determined to marry his second daughter to a nephew of King Jaehaerys Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen. Tensions seemed to be rising between the royal house and the lords of Oldtown, Brightwater, Blackcrow, and the Three Towers. As such, House Targaryen sought to secure their position in the southern reach by betrothing a young relative of the King to the House of Redwyne. At the same time, Viola Redwyne was to marry the heir apparent to the Lords Paramounts of the Reach, House Tyrell's Luthor Tyrell._

 _Later that year, House Redwyne traveled to the regional capital and the seat of House Tyrell, Highgarden, for the expected dual marriage of the House's daughters. There, Olenna met her intended betrothed, Daeron Targaryen. Former handmaidens comment that Olenna described her intended as "A complete idiot and ludicrous silver-haired brat". However, it was at Highgarden that Olenna took notice of her sister's intended, Luther of the House Tyrell. A handsome young man with a keen eye towards diplomacy and furthering the ambitions of his house, Olenna determine she wanted to marry Luther, not Daeron. It has also been believed that Olenna believed that marrying herself to the heir of a Lord Paramouncy gave her significantly more individual power than a minor member of the Royal house._

 _On the night before Heir Luther Tyrell was supposed to propose his hand in marriage to her sister Viola, Olenna acted to secure the Tyrell. Pretending to be lost in the hallways of Highgarden late at night, she seduced Luthor Tyrell and they proceeded to copulate. The next morning, Luther and Olenna shocked to Redwyne, Tyrell, and Targaryen families by declaring their intention to marry. Though deeply embarrassed by the entire affair, House Redwyne could not complain or attempt to disrupt the union as the House Tyrell were their liege lords. House Targaryen, though initially deeply angered by the affair, betrothed Daeron Targaryen to a heiress of the House of Rosby, a Crownlander House. Through the scandalous affair, Olenna Redwyne managed to position herself as a powerful noble in the Reach through her influence over House Tyrell through her new husband Luthor. Though her parents and sister resented her for her actions, Olenna would later reward her family by marrying her daughter Mina to then Heir Apparent Paxter of House Redwyne._

 _In the coming decades, Olenna would cement her power over House Tyrell and the Reach at large. Upon Luthor Tyrell's ascension to his father's lordship, Olenna took over all practical affairs of the House. Luthor was, according to confidants of his at the time, not cut out for politics and court life. As such, he left many of these duties to his wife, allowing her to have near unlimited free reign over the House. Though some of the family members held a grudge against the Redwyne heiress for her intrusion into House Tyrell, her dedication to increasing and expanding the House's power served to gain her new family's loyalty._

 _In the context of Luther Tyrell himself, Olenna eventually lost her interest in him. She would later describe him as an oaf and an incompetent beast. His adventurous and carefree nature often clashed with Olenna's more pragmatic and ordered living style. Nevertheless, it is believed that she was genuinely fond of him, and later confided to her granddaughter Margaery that she had some difficulty accepting his death after his body was delivered to her._

 _Olenna's most prominent traits were her sharp wit, high cunning and intelligence. A politically astute woman, Olenna had been a master of court politics and intrigue her entire life. Olenna's strength and competence in politics had made her the de facto head of House Tyrell and, by extension, the Reach itself. An outspoken woman with little patience for inconvenience, she was unafraid of using her power as head of House Tyrell to threaten her enemies. Olenna never shied from stating her opinion, unless it was more advantageous to mask it._

 _Olenna was incredibly intelligent, as well as wise enough to understand that sometimes people must work with their enemies rather than constantly compete against them. On the darker side, Olenna had no problem harming children, proving she could be just as ruthless as other men like Lord Tywin of the House Lannister of the Westerlands and Lord Petyr of the House Baelish of the Fingers._

 _History would note that Dowager Olenna of the House Tyrell was a critical figure in the time of the War of Kings and the period of the Great Awakening and the Westerosi Liberal Revolution. All through this time, Olenna would remain staunchly loyal to the house of her husband, pushing for House Tyrell to maintain significant power in the new world order devised and constructed by the so called "Citizen-King"._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello all! Hope you enjoy this latest update.**

 **Firstly, please know I am so sorry that this took so long to release. I was caught up between school work and some problems in my private life, but I finally got it out.**

 **In this chapter we explore some of the important characters of House Tyrell and how the family functions. I am sorry we didn't get to cover Willas or Loras in person here, but they will be present in the future. I actually rewrote this chapter several times, because I just didn't like the way my first version sounded. I hope this chapter does House Tyrell justice.**

 **I really do appreciate constructive criticism of my work. If there are errors, things that don't make sense, convoluted thoughts, please let me know and I will do my best to correct them. My work is never perfect, so please let me know when it's not.**

 **Feel free to ask questions and please favorite, follow, and review. Thanks to all who have done so!**

 **See you next time,**

 **Greysider**


	5. Chapter 4: The Life of a Prince

**Chapter 4: The Life of a Prince**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **Story Premise:**

 **Aires of the House Baratheon, first of his name, is the second son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. In a world of fire and ice, he must carefully tread the waters of power as he strives to climb his way to the top. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, he must hide the truth of a past life to survive the great game and emerge victorious from the ashes.**

* * *

 **Chapter Summary:**

 **Introduction of Aires's administrator Nicolas Evenden. We get some insight into his work and relationships.**

* * *

 **Last Chapter:**

 _"Indeed, indeed," Margaery cracked a small smile at him, "And grandmother will be announcing the imminent arrival of a dear friend of ours."_

 _"Oh?" Garlan question, his eyebrows furrowed, "And who could that be?"_

 _Margaery let him wait in suspension for a moment, pretending to be distracted by watching another two knights clash swords back in the training yard._

 _"A name please?" Garlan pressed, always amused by his sister's mannerisms of holding conversations._

 _Finally, she turned her head to look at him, a sly smirk on her face._

 _"A Black Prince." she answered, her lips still conveying her glee at the fact._

 _"Ah," Garlan raised his eyebrows, taking the piece of news in._

 _Soon, he too broke out in smile. He looped his arm around his younger sister and walked back out of the barracks back towards the Grand Hall, making one final comment out of the range of their respective courtiers._

 _"Well that should make things interesting."_

* * *

 **10:00; Morning Hours**

 **14th Day of the Sixth Moon; 296 A.L.**

 **Offices of the House Paramount of the Crownlands; The Red Keep**

 **King's Landing, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms**

Nicolas Evenden considered himself a simple man by all accounts.

He was cold and brutal and efficient, and paperwork bowed before him when he faced it. He was a workaholic, plain and simple. He woke early and went to bed late. He could not remember a night where he had slept more than five hours.

He was an administrator. He was not a fighter. He was not a thinker. He was not a game player. He was a bureaucrat, and that was all he was ever going to be.

This was not a problem or a detriment to him, though. His personality molded with the work of bureaucracy like hot tempers molded with violence.

His quill scratched the surface of the paper before him as he reflected on himself.

He was one of many administrators that served the Prince of the Realm. Oh. You thought he meant Joffrey? Well you thought wrong. Nicolas served at the pleasure of Aires of the House Baratheon, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

He was a man of 38 namedays old. He had a short brown beard that gave him somewhat of a dignified appearance with his otherwise plain looking face and his head of black hair. He was a little more than a meter and half tall and smaller physically than most.

Such was the consequences of growing up as a 'smallfolk'. Yes he was, it might surprise you. He had been born in 258 A.L. in the town of Duskendale, just north of King's Landing, to Darion and Valeres.

Smallfolk didn't take last names, not official ones anyways. Some last name were appropriated to family who ran took their jobs by paternal passage, but alas his father had not been an administrator to a Prince of the Red Keep like he was.

It was natural that smallfolk were physically smaller and weaker than nobles. It had to do with food you see. It was a rather simple explanation. Growing up missing meals on a regular basis, and not due to lack of hunger trust him, was detrimental to human growth. The pis poor quality of most food the peasants ate did not help in this matter.

There was in fact a common practice of guards to measure the height people who claimed to be lords without proper proof. The vast majority of peasants would never exceed his height, whilst nobles and highborns could except to grow to around 2 meters. In his analytical mind, it was a lackluster verification method, but it seemed to be widespread in regions such as the Riverlands and the Westerlands.

His father had been a smith, working at a forger's shop down the street from the hovel they had called home. His mother had worked out in the fields with her bare hands. None of them had ever earned any substantial money. They were constantly left wanting for food and water. There were many a times where his parents got sick that he feared they would both pass on and leave him alone.

From a very young age, his mother Veleres had told him he was exceptional. Perhaps it was his ability to notice patterns and process information faster than anyone else he knew. Perhaps it was the fact that he memorized facts and figures like his father could only dream of. Perhaps it was the fact that by the age of nine, he had learned how to read.

To any noble, this would not seem like much of an accomplishment. They would never have understood his situation. There had been no books for him to study from. There had been no maesters or reading instructors to assist him. He had worked in the fields with his mother since he his fifth nameday.

How had he learned then?

Well, every night, he would walk down to the small books store in the market yard. It was run by a Braavosi merchant by the name of Halo, he would never forget the name. He had hung around the area frequently as a child, and struck up a friendship with the kind older man. Though the merchant had no debt to him, Halo had allowed him access to his books at night when he had gone to sleep.

And so when the sun fell over the horizon and his parents would fall the sleep, Nicolas would travel down to the books store and train himself. He undertook this routine every day for two years, never stopping or giving up.

It had not be easy. He had cried himself to sleep many nights over the fear he would end up like nothing better than his parents. Most children like him knew this to be their future, but Nicolas aspired for something greater. Halo had shown him the possibility of being a literate man, and the young boy would hold onto the dream the merchant had given him.

He had trained himself and trained himself. He had poured over texts with candlelight in the middle of the night.

Finally, it was upon his ninth year that he made a breakthrough. And well, the rest is history.

So here he was now, serving the Prince of the Iron Throne. It had been a long journey for him, but there was no doubt that his nightly trips to Halo's books store had been the first step.

Looking down, he saw his hand resting, still holding the writing quill still with the tip on the paper. He took a minute to read over his work, making sure to correct any spare errors or mistakes he saw as he passed it over. Blowing the spare dirt and dust off of the paper and satisfied with his work, he added that paper onto the large pile on his small desk.

He wiped the quill clean with a small handkerchief in his desk drawer and placed it carefully down on the table.

He gathered the number of papers and documents in his arms and made his way out of his room, down the long hallways of the Red Keep.

He had an appointment with the Black Prince.

The two personal bodyguards of Prince Aires Baratheon stood at the doorway, their hands resting on their swords.

The man on the left, Ser Fabian Harte, had long black hair that reached down to his shoulders. He had plain blue eyes, but his cheekbones and jaw showed a serious man. Fabian was the son of Stanler Harte, the brother of Lord Baras Harte. House Harte resided in the Crownlands to the north of Tumbleton, sworn vassals of the King's family.

On the right stood Ser Gladden Wylde, brown of eyes and hair. He was a simple and plain man, but the gaunt look in his eyes said all that needed to be said about war. House Wylde was situated in the Stormlands by comparison, retainers of the Baratheon family for generations upon generations. They had answered the call of their liege lord all those years ago to overthrow the Mad King.

Both Fabian and Gladden had been present in the battle of Summerhall, though fighting on opposite sides. Gladden had marched north with Robert Baratheon's Army while the Harte's had for the most part retreated to their Keep for the rest of the war. Fabian though, had ran away to join the rebel army in the next year and had participated in the great battle of the Trident, fighting alongside the other guard this time.

The two had distinguished themselves in battle, and had been knighted soon after by the new King of the realm. Nicolas was sure they had both deserved it. From what he knew of them, their honor was unquestionable and their skills with their swords were above and beyond most lords of their experience.

Right now, Aires' guards wore pitch black armor, their black helmets on their right arms. Both were members of the so 'Black Guard', the retinue that the Prince had aquired through the years. They recognized their prince's administrator as soon as he turned to corner towards his grace's chambers. Though they knew the man well, their duty required them to remain professional at all times.

"Mr. Evenden," Fabian called out, "What is your purpose to see his Highness?"

Nicolas gave a curt nod to each of the guards in turn.

"I must bring him his letters and documents, as well as help him in other small matters, my good sers," he replied, gesturing towards the pile of papers in his hands.

"One second if you would," the knight affirmed.

Gladden opened the door gently, moving inside to see his Highness, leaving but himself and Ser Fabian outside of Aires' offices.

Waiting for the Prince's approval to enter, he smiled at the Harte man, who returned it in kind.

Both men stood perfectly still. Fabian for the fact of profession, Nicolas for the preference of it. He much preferred the silence and the peace than the chaotic sounds of unnecessary speech and shouts.

Less than a minute passed before he caught his liege's voice from within the room.

"Send him in," Nicolas heard.

Ser Gladden withdrew himself from the Prince's offices and motioned for Evenden to follow him. Silently, they marched into the chambers, aware that his Highness was busy.

Aires Baratheon's chambers were spacious and neatly organized. The room sported an open view out onto the Narrow Sea, the scent of fresh air and the ocean water filling the room. Shelves carrying everything from books to documents of various sorts were arrayed against the walls.

A large brown desk, fashioned out of the finest woods from the Kingswood, sat squarely in the middle of room. A regal chair, golden markings and fine engravings, sat on the opposite side from him. In that chair sat his liege, the Prince Aires.

The young man was dressed in a fine black suit, the stitches marking his join parentage sewn onto the arms. He held a white feather quill in his right hand, his attention focused on the letter he was currently writing.

"Your Highness, Nicolas Evenden of Duskendale," Ser Gladden announced to the Prince.

Aires didn't raise his head, his hand still blurring across the paper in front of him.

It took a few seconds for him to stop, and then a few more for him to look over his work.

Finally, he looked up at the two men in front of him.

"Thank you Ser Gladden , that will be all," he said simply.

The knight bowed to the Prince and then turned on his heels to leave the room. Aires' eyes followed the man out and only moved once the door had been firmly closed.

Aires smiled at Evenden, outstretching his arm to offer the man to sit down.

"Nicolas," he spoke jovially, "How do you do today?"

Nicolas took a moment to breathe in the fresh air from the open window and replied with a smile of his own: "Very well, your Highness. Shall we get down to the business of the day?"

\- Of course," Aires pronounced.

Nicolas took the pile of papers he had carried with them and placed them carefully on the Prince's desk.

"These here are your personal letters," he said separating some many dozens of them from the larger pile and placing them next to it.

"These are the numerous orders and documents that need your review," he denoted another newly created pile on the desk.

"And finally, those are the reports from the businesses and other projects," he finished.

Aires sat back down and scanned over the hundreds of papers on his desk with a hawk's eye.

One might wonder why the Prince had so much independence and seemingly powerful financial interest at such a young age. Certainly neither Joffrey, Tommen, nor Myrcella had so much power onto themselves.

It was tradition in noble families, from barons to royals, to bequeath the sons and daughters of the house a small annual stipend from the age of seven namedays.

It was not a vastly large sum usually. It ranged sometimes from a couple hundred silver stage to sometimes even hundreds of the priceless coins. He was aware that the stipend planned for Joffrey had originally been 1000 gold dragons.

Now that might not seem like an enormous amount for the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, but you would be surprised. A single golden dragon could buy quite a lot. In the preindustrial society that was Westeros, labor was very cheap and favors to nobles were freely given.

Nevertheless, Joffrey had taken the proposed stipend as an assault to him. How dare that the realm provide him with the typical earning wage of a high end Pentosi merchant, he had thought. Never mind the fact that Pentosi merchants were exceptionally rich and that the Crown Prince did no work.

In the end, the Queen Cersei had taken care of the matter personally. She had taken it upon herself to absorb Joffrey's proposed stipend and the responsibility of his payments as well. It allowed the Crown Prince thousands more golden dragons and, conveniently, allowed Cersei to keep track of all of her first son's finances. Now of course that had not been the intention of her solution . . .

Aires, however, had nicely sidestepped his mother's little plots.

He had taken the 800 stipend that was his and refused for any of it to be held under the lock and key of his mother. Cersei had protested, but the King, in one of his drunken moods, had sided with his son on this matter.

Apart from this token spending money, Aires had long since made his own relationships with the men and women at court and in the different regions of the Seven Kingdoms. He had always been far more independent than his older brother. While Joffrey was busy whining at others and hiding behind his mother's squirt, Aires was carving a path for his own ascension.

Upon his 10th nameday, four years ago, his father had given him control over the assets of House Baratheon in the Crownlands. It was a grand honor to be sure.

Joffrey had refused a similar offer the year before. Finances and lowling dealing were no fit job for a Prince of the realm, he had said. The fool.

As the second son of the King, Aires was in line to take the Lordship of the Stormlands until Renly birthed an heir, but his father was convinced that he needed his son with him in the Crownlands more than ever.

He had been ingratiating himself to his father for years. He had gone off with him to war in 289 and proved his honor, even as a squire. Aires had been far from the front lines, but his volunteering to join his father in the fight had made Robert prouder of him than anything else

Management over the House had always been reserved to Baratheons. If it had not, there was no doubt the Queen would have put her lion claws on that title as well. As it was, his father the King had no such intention to do the day to day work of managing his own House.

Upon his crowning back in 281 A.L., the new House Baratheon of the Crownlands had inherited millions of gold dragons, thousands of acres of land, and hundreds of other properties and ownerships from the now expelled House Targaryen.

The burden of work just to organize the new assets had been too much for the King to even contemplate taking on. A Steward of the House would have assisted him in these tasks, but such was the mountain of his business that he wanted no part in his own House's management.

He had first wished to thrust the helpless task into the hands of his good friend Jon Arryn. Having also just been appointed the Hand of the King, a job the size of a dozen good men, Jon had had no choice to but to decline the King's offer. Disgruntled a bit, Robert had then thrown the Stewardship of House Baratheon of the Crownlands up in the air for his closest allies.

It had been first by taken up by Rolland of the House Caron, a Stormlander House which had fought side by side with Robert during the Rebellion. The problem was, Rolland was a fighter, not an administrator. He preferred to leave the job undone and go out searching for bandits and criminals to fight.

Upon the Greyjoy Rebellion of 89', Rolland had been summoned by the King to call his levies to war. With this, the Stewardship was tossed aside to Lester of the House Morrigen, another house from the Stormlands. Morrigen was certainly a knowledgeable man, but he was also an old one. With a rough attitude and a nasty mouth, he won no sympathy in the Crownlands.

Needless to say, the state of House Baratheon of the Crownlands by 292 was dire. Both stewards were incompetent in their own right, and them being from the Stormlands, no natural allies of the Crownlander Houses, did them no good. Not only had little to been done to set the House Baratheon in shape, its finances and asset management had basically fallen apart.

So dire was the state of the Royal House in fact, that most of the Crownlander lords were more than willing to accept control over it being placed upon a 10 year old boy. A proclaimed genius, intellectual, and sworn friend of the Order of Maesters, but still a boy. Normally, the conservative houses of the Royal lands would have protested most profusely against the appointment of a boy of 10, but such was not the case on that day.

Maybe it would cause some question into how all of them folded over when the King made his decision, as not a single house had so much as protested on the day. The circumstances were such that the fact was brushed away, and nobody ever questioned how the strong houses of Mallery and Rambton, Targaryen loyalists in private, would have happily gone along with the appointment of a 10 year old stag.

One that had protested was the Queen. Cersei had gone on for weeks on end about the job being "too much for her little boy". Even Robert saw through her thinly veiled attempts at scheming in this case. Joffrey had even congratulated his brother for the appointment, wanting nothing to do with the job himself.

Still though, Cersei's concerns could not be so easily dismissed. It was true that to place such a heavy task on a boy of 10 was an unusual and questionable thing to do. She had thrown her gold and her influence around throughout the court, doing everything possible to stop Aires' appointment as Steward of the House Baratheon in the Crownlands. She claimed that he was unfit for it, that he was too weak, that he didn't have enough experience, that it was beyond him.

Some of the Crownlander Houses had been made suspicious of the appointment suddenly with Lannister gold drowning their treasuries, and so the Lord Hand decided to hold a vote in the small council to determine the matter.

It is said that the King had been incensed, going so far as to threaten to divorce his wife right then and there!

He need not have been worried.

Out of the seven members of the Small Council, five had sided with the King over his Queen on this matter. Pycelle, the Lannister fool had of course spoken most vehemently against his appointment, the orders of his mother to be sure. The other, the Master of Laws at the time, Kevan Lannister, had too voted the Lannister line.

Still, five to two was more than enough to confirm the King's decision. Cersei was enraged that members of the Council had dared to disobey her commands, believing that a plot was afoot against her. It was a crazy assumption.

Jon Arryn would vote against anything that the Queen wanted to matter what it might be. Stannis would always stand for his own family before the dreaded Lannisters. Varys seemed to have been in the good graces of the second prince, and Selmy too seemed quite inclined to his apprentice.

The consequences of the appointment were drastic as well. Pycelle, who had apparently gone against the Citadel's direct orders to help confirm the boy, was given a strong warning and threatened with expulsion from the Order of Maesters. The next year, Kevan Lannister would be shipped back home to Casterly Rock in favor of Renly Baratheon, the King's younger brother.

From that day onwards, Aires Baratheon seized control over his house with an iron grip and brought it out of the mud.

He had directed new investments, building projects, and renovations. He had sorted out the convoluted finances of the house and set the mismanaged spending straight. He had restarted old shut down industries and lands. He had organized new systems of patrols and tool paying. While skilled with a sword in his own right, nobody would ever not call him an administrator first.

"Well," he said, "Let's start with the reports.

\- Very well."

For the next hour and a half, Nicolas led his Prince through the documents that needed his attention.

Firstly was the matter of a horse farm in Brindelwood that was in need of resupply. After that it was dealing with the training yards in Rosby. Then again it was sending out the appropriate orders to combat a group of looters that were pillaging around the Ivy Inn. Following that there was the progress report concerning a waterway from the Blackwater Rush to the Mander river.

Most importantly, it was coordinating the moving of a number of resources from their location in a location north of Tumbleton southwest to the small town of Arlington, just next to the Grassey Vale.

It took the two administrators the better part of the next hours to make the decisions they needed to and send out the letters that would enforce them. By that time, it was far past lunch time.

"My liege," Nicolas bowed to his Prince, " I thank you for taking the time to work through these important matters,"

Aires simply nodded, taking the last of his executive decisions in his hands.

"You are all set to assume your new role?" the Prince queried, as he melted a stick of hot black wax onto the paper.

Nicolas gave a short bow, "Yes my liege."

"Good. Good," Aires replied, pressing his royal ring, holding the sign of a stag, down on the wax, imprinting his official seal upon the papers.

"Might I ask when you will be informing the King and the other appropriate lords of my appointment?" Nicolas asked, careful to not seem presumptuous.

"My Lord father has given me permission to appoint you directly. I shall be doing so the day before I depart," Aires replied simply, putting the last of the papers in with the larger pile.

"Take these and make sure they are properly distributed," he told his administrator, handing him the stack of documents and files, "Oh and before I forget, send out a letter to Lord Daris Norridge and tell him I want to meet with a representative of his House here in the capital before I leave for the Reach."

Nicolas smiled, a gesture only, and bowed.

"Of course, your Highness," he said simply before turning around and exiting the room.

Aires leaned back on his seat and sighed. He took a deep breath a smelled the smell of the ocean wafting through the room. Though his family, expect Stannis, had never been attuned to the water, it was something he always enjoyed being around.

Taking a golden chalice at the corner of his desk, he stood up slowly from his chair and moved over to a small wooden cabinet in the right corner of the room. He opened up the cabinet on the bottom and retrieved a cylindrical crystal glass from the large collection he had. He took off the top of a bottle of Golden Arbor wine and poured himself a generous serving. Taking a sip and sighing deeply, he made his way back to his desk and placed the glass on the desk as he seated himself.

He looked over at the one remaining pile of papers that Nicolas had brought in. Personal letters from "friends" and acquaintances. Hidden inside the pile were most likely a good number of espionage reports as well, but didn't that fall under the "personal" category?

Not all of his spy network's communication was sent through this fashion, very little of it in fact, but for some channels it was easier this way.

Leaning back and facing the open waters, he placed the pile in his lap and began to read.

He smiled, genuinely, as he began to read through them. Friends were a rare thing in the world of Westeros, and they were all the more precious as the years went on.

The first one was from a good lad in the Vale, one Ruber Moore, heir of the House of Moore. The boy was no swordfighter, Aires would tell you that, but what he did possess was a sharp mind, something that the black prince shared with him. After that there was a friendly note from a certain Braavosi former First Sword, a man he had encountered years ago and trained with for but a few months.

These were simple letters, an escape for Aires from the harsh brutality of the game of thrones. It gave him a chance to sit back and enjoy life, even as he knew those times were going to be increasingly cut short in the coming years.

Finally, a broad smile lit up on his face. He unrolled the scroll and began to read from the top.

 _ **My dear Aires,**_

 _ **I sincerely appreciate your last letter and the gift accompanying it. Though Highgarden boasts, I think fairly, the best roses in the Seven Kingdoms, it is true that your winter roses were an exotic treat for the gardeners here. I had taken the liberty to inquire about the nature of these precious flowers from one of our Maesters more knowledgeable in plants and the natural world.**_

 _ **For you to have gone to all the trouble to acquire them from as far north as the Gift touches me. It is also said that they are resilient and unlike the other's, fail to shrivel come winter. I am thinking you had my family words in mind when you arranged this.**_

 _ **No matter, for the sun remains hot and the skies keep blue all throughout the Reach. It is beautiful this time of the year, and my dear Grandmother never ceases to encourage me to enjoy the weather while it lasts.**_

 _ **In other news, you will be interested to know that Lord Randyll presented his latest son Dickon to the court at Highgarden earlier today. Not much in the ways of intelligence, I'm afraid to say, but I can testify to his swordsmanship skills. Even as but of 9 namedays, he promises to be a skilled fighter, just like his father. I have no doubt this was why Lord Randyll at least pretended to be joyous today instead of the last time he presented a son to us.**_

 _ **The Maester's have reported that the Reach can expect a another sizable harvest this year, cooling some of the heavier heads in court today.**_

 _ **You would be interested to know that I took a trip to visit the lands of House Ambrose this past week. As usual, I went out amongst the smallfolk to talk to them and deliver the odd sack of coins from here to there. You maybe better than anyone else would appreciate the importance of this, and I'm afraid my hosts certainly didn't.**_

 _ **Their eight year old son Alyn was delighted to be able to host the "Rose of Highgarden". A delightful boy perhaps, but not so much in the way of processed thought.**_

 _ **I can attest House Ambrose's loyalties to my family have not wavered, still honor bound as ever. Though I have not had the opportunity to visit the North, I sometimes feel as though we are but their southern equal. Excluding some of us, we must always have our wits about us after all.**_

 _ **I would inquire into the weather at King's Landing, but I'm afraid I already know the answer.**_

 _ **Eagerly awaiting your next letter as always.**_

 _ **Yours forever,**_

 _ **Margaery**_

Now wasn't that something nice.

Her honesty was refreshing, even through the form of words on a paper. He couldn't help but think that his dear friend's lessons with her Grandmother must have been having a bigger impact on her. Both were powerful pieces on the chess board, but they spoke and acted with a confidence that hid their deceptions in laughter and insults.

Margaery of the House Tyrell was a wonderful girl. He felt true happiness whenever he received her letters.

They had first met six years ago at the seat of the Tyrells during Aires' tour of the Seven Kingdoms. The Rose of Highgarden had been 10 namedays old at the time, a pretty young girl and him, a handsome young boy. Aires could still remember the day his eyes had met hers and he blinked.

It wasn't her figure that had attracted him. No, for she had not even begun to mature into a teenager yet. It was her eyes. They shone of beauty and more importantly . . . ambition. Oh how Aires had been enamored with her eyes. They were a soft shade of brown, but behind them, they told a story of power and determination.

Margaery had been trained since she was capable of conscious thought by her Grandmother, the Lady Olenna Redwyne. She had been trained as the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. With the total defeat and exile of the Targaryens, the Tyrells were more insecure than ever in Westeros. Without a strong ally in any of the other Kingdoms and with the ruling Royals aligned against them, the Tyrells sat in a precarious position. Margaery, to her Grandmother, was the key to restoring Tyrell power.

As such, she had learned at a very young age how to lie, how to deceive, how to trick, how to attract, and how to lead. She was built for one thing and one thing only, the Iron Throne.

Aires and Margaery had connected the first day they met. He was attracted to her drive and her ambition. She, on the other hand, was taken with the Prince's unnatural intelligence and his maturity. Though most children would look down on one that acted and thought like an adult, Margaery loved it.

They had parted on good terms, and had begun a correspondence that had continued to this day.

She was perhaps one of the few people in all of Westeros that truly understood him, Aires Baratheon. As such, it was lightening to be able to converse frankly with another person his age, even if she was two years older than him.

As he read through the letter one of his only true friends had sent to him, he waved his hand towards his desk.

In the background, a white quill raised itself off the desk and floated over to the small pot of ink. The writing instrument dipped into the ink of its own movements and then floated over next to Aires, waiting motionlessly in the air.

A pleasant smile on his face as he finished the letter, Aires carefully extracted one small sheet of paper from the pile on his desk and laid it out in front of him.

Looking out at the water for a second to gather his words, he seized his quill from the air and put it to the paper.

 _ **Lady Margaery**_

 _ **I write to you with the joyous news that I will soon be on the Roseroad to Highgarden. My lord father has seen it fit to send me to the Reach for the coming year.**_

 _ **The Falcon was particularly insistent on my trip to your lands, while the Lion was more than welcome to assist him in persuading the Stag to acquiesce.**_

 _ **It has been two years since I have been graced by your presence, and I dream of standing next to the Rose once more.**_

 _ **It pains me to say that I can no longer remember the smell of the fresh flowers in Highgarden's sprawling fields, and it has been too long since I have traveled west.**_

 _ **We shall have much to revisit upon seeing each other once more. I have many stories to share and many more I expect to hear from you.**_

 _ **Plans are afoot my dear lady, and we must all weather the storms that they bring with them.**_

 _ **The court has been busier than usual these days. Plots interwoven with each other that span from Sunspear to Braavos. You would understand this better than anyone.**_

 _ **Pass along my regards to your family.**_

 _ **I eagerly await your next letter as always.**_

 _ **Yours Truly,**_

 _ **Aires**_

Some amongst you might be confused by a couple of the lines in his letter. That was to be expected. Code intertwined with prose was the nature of every letter he sent out and received. Don't blame him, it was how all nobles in Westeros wrote.

Still content, he turned to the next letter in the pile, and his smile tempered itself.

 _ **Black,**_

 _ **The two heads of the three have joined with the fat man in the white robes.**_

 _ **Your faithful servant,**_

 _ **Blue Waters**_

Aires frowned.

This was disconcerting, to say the least.

It seemed as though the two renegade dragons had joined up with the illustrious magister across the Narrow Sea. How curious.

He hadn't expected Illyrio to have accepted to host the Beggar King and his sister, but it seemed he had been wrong on that one.

Interesting it was though, that just last week he had received a missive from the same servant claiming that the Magistar had no intention of gracing the dragons with his presence. Not only had he, but he had shelter them at his home.

Interesting indeed.

He had labored long and hard to ensure that the man had been kept as far away from the Targaryens as possible. Alas, it had not been enough.

Illyrio, with his particular heritage, had always been a threat when it came to the safety of Westeros. An alliance with the Targaryens of all people was unexpected, but perhaps Aires should have anticipated the move. After all, the Magistar had made significantly more unsavory alliances for lesser ends.

Keeping track of the Targaryen sibling's in their trek across Essos had not been easy, Aires would tell you that.

At the same time, the assassins that chased after them on the orders of his father made the entire situation more contentious. Despite the insane bounty of 100,000 golden dragons on their heads, they still lived, roaming around in search of the future. Though desperate for help and without any individual power of their own, the dragons yet had allies to their House. Nameless supporters and sympathizers seemed to crawl over the entire continent in the east. At least, that was part of the reason Varys gave to why the siblings still lived.

His mind analyzed the new situation, he brought his quill to another piece of parchment to pen a letter back to his spy.

 _ **Blue Waters,**_

 _ **Stay your course. Do not divert the path of the ship. Watch for fire.**_

 _ **Black**_

Still considering the new elements that had been introduced into the great game, Aires sat back on his chair and pondered the news for a few minutes.

Then, he stood up and walked over to a cabinet in the corner of his room with the letter in hand. He waved his his hand over a blank space in the wall.

Suddenly, part of the wall seemed to retract itself inwards. In the blink of an eye, where there was once only the flat surface of the wall was a drawer carved into the wall. Barely paying attention to the phenomenon that would have left anyone else stupendous, Aires deposited his letter in which a few others in the drawer and moved to return to his desk. A second past after he had left the letter there when the drawer once again disappeared into the wall, leaving it to return to the flat surface it appeared it was.

An agent of his would come to retrieve the letters later and distribute them to the proper people.

Just as he was about to sit down, Gladden marched into the room again.

Already distracted enough with the issue of the Targaryens in Essos, Aires couldn't help himself in letting a slightly aggravated look cross his features. As trained, the knight did not visibly react.

Instead, he bowed to his liege and then extended his arm, a small scroll in his hand.

"Your Highness, a message from the Hand of the King." he spoke.

The Prince raised his eyes. What could Arryn be wanting with him now?

"Very well," he replied to the motionless Wylde, "Give it here."

He carefully took the paper scroll from his guard's hand.

As soon as the letter left the knight's hand, he bowed once more to the Prince and then turned on his heels to exit the room.

Not bothering to go back to his seat, Aires leaned up against the front of the desk and unrolled the scroll.

 _ **Prince Aires of the House Baratheon,**_

 _ **You are requested to appear for court this afternoon in the presence of his Grace, King Robert.**_

 _ **The Hand of the King, Jon of the House Arryn**_

Really? Now? At this time of the day.

It was an odd time to hold court. Normally it was either done in the morning or in the hours before dinner. The simple reason for this was that in the middle of the day most Lords and Royal attendants had to actually attend to their jobs and as such, not be available for court.

Well, no matter the time, he couldn't refuse to attend. No, that was something that just wasn't done. So he would go and stand next to his family as the sons and daughters of the lords and ladies talked and conspired with and against each other.

In all likelihood, there would be precious few people at court today. But that wouldn't matter though, because the purpose of holding court wasn't to actually entertain the various nobles here in King's Landing, it was to distract him.

His mother didn't like being dismissed and told to wait. She was a prideful lion, and she would not tolerate her children distancing themselves from her. Even if it was the only Baratheon of the lot.

So the Queen had called court, had she?

Well, she could do as she wished.

Aires would attend, as always, and he wouldn't complain. That would do nothing now.

His mother could drag him to court and keep him away from the King as long as she wished, but at the end of the day it mattered not.

For he would win the game with or without her interference in his plans.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello all! Hope you enjoy this latest update.**

 **In this chapter we explore the life of Aires and see what his position entails. There are two OC characters introduced in this chapter: Nicolas Evenden, and Fabian Harte. Gladden Wylde, as my fans will hopefully notice, is a character from the books and the TV series.**

 **These first three chapters have been mostly made up of exposition, I don't deny it. It is needed in order to set up the story and is a foundation upon which the action will lay upon. Talking about action, there will certainly be some next chapter, so don't worry.**

 **In order to clarify, the Lion represents House Lannister, the Falcon represents House Arryn, the Direwolf represents House Stark, the Kraken represents House Greyjoy, the Rose represents House Tyrell, the Stag represents House Baratheon, the Trout represents House Tully, and the Snake (or the Sun) represents House Martell.**

 **I really do appreciate constructive criticism of my work. If there are errors, things that don't make sense, convoluted thoughts, please let me know and I will do my best to correct them. My work is never perfect, so please tell me when it's not.**

 **I also want to thank my beta Nathanael of House Willum for all his help editing this chapter. To any of you who would like to help out with this story, I welcome you to contact me.**

 **Finally, this story will include a large number of original characters. These range from being soldiers, administrators, merchants, sellswords, to prostitutes. Please submit names and descriptions of characters I can use.**

 **Feel free to ask questions and please favorite, follow, and review. Thanks to all who have done so!**

 **See you next time,**

 **Greysider**


	6. Chapter 5: Hidden Plots

**CHAPTER 5 - Hidden Plots**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **Story Premise:**

 **Aires of the House Baratheon, first of his name, is the second son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. In a world of fire and ice, he must carefully tread the waters of power as he strives to climb his way to the top. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, he must hide the truth of a past life to survive the great game and emerge victorious from the ashes.**

* * *

 **Chapter Summary:**

 **Queen Cersei ponders on her second son. Aires Baratheon holds more meetings in preparation for his departure from King's Landing to Highgarden and a clandestine relationship is revealed with an infamous organization.**

* * *

 **Last Chapter:**

 _So the Queen had called court, had she?_

 _Well, she could do as she wished._

 _Aires would attend, as always, and he wouldn't complain. That would do nothing now._

 _His mother could drag him to court and keep him away from the King as long as she wished, but at the end of the day it mattered not._

 _For he would win the game with or without her interference in his plans._

* * *

 **Morning Hours**

 **22** **th** **Day of the Sixth Moon; 296 A.L.**

 **King's Landing, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms**

Her Grace, Cersei of the House Lannister, Queen Consort of King Baratheon of the Iron Throne of Westeros, sat quietly in her chair, brooding over one Aires Baratheon.

She waved out the nameless gardener who had brought her a note on her second son's activities. She dismissed the man like a fly, which is what he was, nobody a Queen should concern herself with.

Cersei opened the note and unrolled it, holding it up to the light to see it clearly.

 _The Prince has been shut inside his offices for the past three days. He is holding constant meetings with the nobles of the Crownlands. No other activity._

She scoffed and threw it on the ground, knowing that an aid would come to dispose of it later.

The Queen crossed her knees and took a deep breathe, trying to analyze her dear Aires' behavior. It wasn't unusual for the boy to remain stuck inside that precious office of his for days on end, she swore he slept in that room more than he did in his chambers.

At that man he kept company, what was his name again? Nicolo something. It didn't matter. He, like the gardener, was a smallfolk. Their names did not mean anything. What did matter to her was what Aires got up to with that man all day. She knew he wasn't interested in the same sex, she knew that well, but it didn't stop her from having doubts sometimes when he would sit in his office with that man for hours upon hours.

Never mind that, for that situation would be coming to an end soon enough. After years of laboring and approaching the matter from every angle there was, the solution had landed straight on her lap.

Strangely enough, a request from Olenna Tyrell of all people proved to be the greatest gift she had received that year.

The Tyrell matriarch had formally asked that the Heir to the Stormlands and the Lord Steward of the Baratheon House be sent to Highgarden for a year to "improve mutual relationships". It was a godsend.

She had been pushing for the same thing to Robert and that foolish Jon Arryn for years now. Send him to Sunspear, send him to the Eyrie, send him to Dragonstone, send him to fucking Winterfell, and yes, send him to Highgarden.

Everytime though, she had been blocked by either the oaf's insistence the kid stay or Arryn's political games.

Now though, somehow, Olenna Tyrell had convinced the Hand of the King to acquiesce to her demand. With both his Hand and his wife urging him to accept the Tyrell spymaster's "request", the King too have caved in. And so, just like that, he was gone. Like a puff of smoke that had never been there.

It couldn't come soon enough. She counted down the days until dear Aires's departure.

It wasn't that she hated the boy. No, no, you misunderstand.

No, in truth she quite liked him.

Aires Baratheon was smart, witty, strong, confidant, proud, manipulative, and devious. He was everything she could ever have wanted out of her little lion.

Except he wasn't a lion.

He was a stag.

He wasn't Jaime's.

And at the end of the day, that's all the mattered to her.

Aires would have to go, one way or another, to pave the way for Joffrey's ascension to the Throne. She had no doubt that there would be problems, she wasn't naive enough to think it would be easy. Aires would not make that process easier. His very existence was proof against Joffrey, and indirectly, herself.

For that reason he had to leave King's Landing. He had to leave before he became entrenched there and she couldn't force him out. Better now, when he was respected, than in two years, when he would be revered.

She hoped that Aires would forgive her when she was older. She loved her second son, as much as it seemed she didn't.

She could imagine a scene in the Throne Room, with her and her dear Aires both standing next to her perfect golden Lion, Joffrey, who sat imperiously on the Iron Throne.

Oh how she dreamed of that moment.

In order for it to materialize though, Aires had to go.

And now, by a happening of chance and opportunity, he was.

Queen Cersei couldn't stop herself from smiling as she raised a chalice to her own success.

* * *

 **Afternoon Hours**

 **22** **th** **Day of the Sixth Moon; 296 A.L.**

 **Offices of the House Paramount of the Crownlands**

 **King's Landing, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms**

Aires leaned back on his chair and let out a sigh. It wasn't even mid-day and he was already exhausted.

Lord Trevas Blount had just existed Aires' offices, storming off to return to his Keep. That had been a difficult meeting. Blount was known for his temper, but Aires had thought that his tone and mannerisms would have been able to tame the fiery lord. He had thought wrong.

Trevas had come down to King's Landing from his comfortable estate to protest Aires' decision on the Harlow fields that law adjacent to Blount's domain. The fields were nominally owned by the Crown, and therefore under Aires' authority. For years, Blount had been sending hundreds of his smallfolk into the Harlow to farm. Being Crown property, they paid no taxes, conveniently for Trevas. He had been using the fields to increase his own tax revenue.

The problem for Trevas was the over the years, his expenditures came to rely more and more on the profits made in Harlow. Therefore, when the Lord Steward of the House Baratheon of the Crownlands came knocking at his door, he had been put in a bind.

Under the threat of being charged with forcefully seizing Crown property, Blount had been forced to strike a deal with the Prince. Aires had sold the land to the Lord, therefore ensuring his farmers could continue to work the fields and that the Crown would now received their proper taxes on the area.

Blount to say the least, had been less than pleased. Sure he would still be able to take advantage of the fertile fields, but now he actually had to pay taxes on them.

Well he hadn't had much of a choice in this matter. Seizure of Crown property was a crime punishable by death, so not much leeway there.

As Aires had been quoted saying once: "There are two things for sure in life: death and taxes."

In this case, Blount had chosen taxes.

Thankfully for the both of them, Aires thought, because he really didn't want to start dabbling in executions too early and Blount probably wanted to keep his head on his shoulders.

Blount was just the last one in a series of lords and other various ranks of nobility and wealth that had met with today. They came with a multitude of demands and personal agendas. It was everything from requesting tax exemptions to complaining about new Crown projects in the region to arguing with him about certain tax collectors. A certain merchant from Tyrosh had, clearly representing some unknown person of importance, taken almost 15 minutes of his time to complement him about new tariff levels in King's Landing. Sure Aires sought the support of the merchants and traders, but the man had wasted 15 minutes of his time.

Some of the meetings had gone quite quickly, with lords acknowledging their inability to actually change Aires' mind and leaving early. Others had dragged on and on, ending only after the Prince ordered either Fabian or Gladden to drag them out of the office.

Prince Stannis, as the Master of Ships, had put the job on his shoulders to bully the lords under his purview for a better deal on lumber prices. Specifically, that was Lord Balman Byrch, one of the major lords in the Kingswood and therefore, a major controller of timber.

Balman hemmed and hawed about Stannis coming down on him and his fellow lords for resources to construct new ships. Apparently, the Baratheon brother had already confronted the Byrch Lord, in his own Keep no less. According to Balman, he had also had arguments with House Staedmon and House Bywater as well, all of which ended badly for both.

So that was the reason Stannis had come to him on this, Aires thought. The Lord of Dragonstone was a strong military man and a practical person, but didn't quite have the right inclination for politics or basic social skills. No, that was Aires' job.

After a back and forth with Balman that ended with very little accomplished, he ended the meeting by assuring the man that he would talk to Stannis and get him to calm down. Though Balman left with a smile on his face, Aires was certain he would be hearing from the man again sooner than he would have liked.

It was unfortunate that he, as Lord Steward of the ruling house of the Crownlands, couldn't just order the numerous lords of the region to do whatever he wanted. One would assume that being a monarchy, the Crown would find it easy to exert supreme power over the aristocracy. Nope.

The nature of ruling in the Crownlands was as much a game of bargaining with the various lower lords as ruling them. At the end of the day, Aires always had to be conscious not to stretch his authority to its limits. He remembered reading well what happened to Aerys Targaryen after the battle of the Trident. Most of the Crownlander lords retreated with their remaining forces inside of their isolated keeps and castles, leaving KIng's Landing ripe for sacking by the combined Lannister-Baratheon army bearing down upon it. Aires would not make the same mistakes as the Mad King.

The entire reason this whole matter of ship building had started anyways was a recent uptick in pirate activity in the Narrow Sea. Though the waters had never been fully safe, pirate ships seemed to have gathered into fleets to pick on larger convoys.

Morosh the Myrman, a sellsail admiral, which was basically just a fancy phrase for pirate lord, had been more and more active in the past years. He operated out of Tyrosh, though only informally, preying on small trading ships from Dorne to Braavos. Likewise, the Prince of the Narrow Sea, Salladhor Saan, had gained prominence. He hailed from Lys, running his own private fleet of mercenary ships. His fleet, number 28 ships from Aires' last count, burned everything he was paid to destroy. It was rumored that Saan might even be the richest pirate in the known world.

No matter, Morosh and Salladhor were just the most present faces in an entirely new trend in pirate activity. Pirate and sellsail ships were joining forces, going after larger targets on the horizon. The Prince knew what this was a sign of.

It was a sign that war was coming.

There were trends that could be analyzed to determine these things. Before the beginning of every major war on both Westeros and Essos for the past centuries, the rival factions would begin their preparations years in advance. Sellswords and mercenary companies would suddenly appear off the face of the earth and take up new contracts. Forts were rebuilt and supplies stockpiled in hidden locations. Household guards were expanded and family members called back from foreign trips or expeditions. And, pirate forces began to gather under single banners, preparing for the day when they were hired to complement various "official" state navies.

Such trends were not to be taken lightly, especially to a young man in such a position as Aires.

He would be traveling to Highgarden in less than a week, and he still had plans to set in motion before he left. It had been a calculated risk planning his own exile. One of his advisors had called him, in polite language, and idiot when he had first contemplated the idea. Aires didn't shy away from the fact that it was a risk, but he had been lucky so far.

Nevertheless, he would be leaving the Crownlands under good management when he left. If he could convince his father later today, and he had no doubt he could, Evenden would be made Lord Steward in his stead when he departed. Though no longer in full control of the region, he would have a trusted administrator following his letters to the word. Nicolas would hold the fort while he was working in the Reach, and continue to implement the projects he had begun during his tenure as Lord Steward.

Aires took out a deep breathe as Nicolas returned into the office after escorting Lord Blount out of the room. Though he tried not to show it, he was also visibly worn. The administrator moved back into the corner of the room where he had been taking extensive notes on his liege's meeting for the past hours.

Sighing, the Prince turned towards his assistant.

"Who's next for today?"

Nicolas retrieved one of the many parchments placed on his small desk and read over it quickly.

"Just one more for today, Your Highness," he replied monotonously, "The representative of House Norridge. This is concerning the matter of Arlington."

"Ah yes," Aires affirmed, pulling a large stack of papers in front of him and shifting through them.

Nicolas continued his introduction: "They've sent their heir, Lord Dramon Nordidge, to negotiate on their behalf."

Aires muttering under his breath, "Not that they have anyone else to send."

He sat quietly for a minute, reviewing his plans and the details of them. His administrator sat motionlessly besides him, waiting for his Prince to finished.

Finally, Aires looked up and called out for the nobleman to be sent in.

The door opened and Ser Fabian marched in with Dramon Norridge in two. The man was still young, just shy of his 18th nameday in fact. He was a little taller than Aires, his face also more mature and his body standing strong and muscular.

With a bow, Aires's sworn knight returned to his station at the door, leaving the Prince to analyze the man in front of him for just a few more seconds.

The man had short brown hair, combed neatly and his hands folded behind his back. He wore expensive clothes today, a beautiful green shade decorating his stylish robes. Gold was speckled on it and the jewels encrusted on its edges clearly showed off the Norridge accumulated wealth.

Yet, for all of Dramon's excess and flowery imagery, he lacked the strength of a House to back it up. He also lacked the mental composition for the situation, his nerves visibly tied up in his throat.

You see, House Norridge never recovered from the Ninepenny wars, back in 260. Comparatively, the Reach had only been involved to a moderate extent in the war. While the then Lord of Highgarden, Luthor Tyrell, had been disinclined to fully commit to the conflict, considering the minimal impact that Ring of Nine had so far had on his domain. Yet at the same time, the brave knights of the Reach had indeed rallied behind the Crown to expel the Golden Company and their pirate allies from the Stepstones. One such House was that of Norridge.

In the single year conflict, House Norridge had lost five members during the war. Three had been lost at sea during a Tyroshi ambush. A fourth had had an arrow implanted in his head during the assault on Bloodstone Island. Finally, a fifth died of poisoning, thought it was rumored at the time that a rival lord had used the war as an excuse to get rid of an old enemy.

Then, during Robert's Rebellion, House Norridge lost another two members. The heir to the House, Roran, who fell during a skirmish with Baratheon forces near Fawnton. His sister, Palicia, had fallen ill around the same time, though not without considerable suspicion.

Now, all that remained of the once proud House Norridge was its elderly lord, Daris, and his grandson, Dramon himself.

"My Prince," the man bowed before him, "I am Dramon of the House Norridge. My Lord Grandfather Norridge has received your request for an audience and has sent me to be his representative."

Aires gave Dramon a nice smile. Though the Norridge heir hid it well, he was scared. His left hand twitched, even as it lay unmoving at his side.

"My thanks for riding to King's Landing with such haste, my good man. Please take a seat," he replied jovally.

With a smile so fake it was almost plastic, Dramon sat down in the chair facing Aires. The Prince could tell his guest was still unsure of the situation, so he gave him another smile and inclined his head.

"A drink to calm the nerves," he asked gently, a smile playing on his lips.

Dramon replied with a scared chuckle, wiping off a drip of sweat from his head.

"That would be much appreciated, My Prince. I thank you for the offer," he agreed, keeping his eyes from meeting Aires's.

"Of course," the Prince gave, standing up and moving across the room to poor both himself and the Norridge heir a cup of wine. He knew that Nicolas wouldn't want one. The man didn't drink. Aires knew very well why he didn't, but boy was the man missing out on something.

He passed one of the cups to Dramon, taking a generous sip out of the other while looking at him. It was a measure most Lords undertook while serving drink to another. Afterall, there was more poisoning by wine amongst the nobles than lives were ever taken by the sword.

Shakily, Dramon raised the glass to his lips, taking a gulp that was probably far larger than he intended. He then put the cup down on the table, waiting for the Prince to address him.

"You are most likely wondering why I asked to talk to House Norridge here in the capitol?" Aires commented, looking out the window at the ocean waters.

"N . . . No my Lor . . . I mean my Prince. Not at all!" Dramon replied rapidly, not wanting to offend the boy he knew held more power in the Crownlands than even the Hand.

Aires gave a sharp laugh, then smiled genially at the man across the desk.

"You are," the Prince said simply, "And rightfully so. You know I will be traveling to Highgarden and staying there for quite some time in a few days."

Dramon's eyes opened wide, trying to feign shock, but any good game player could see he already knew.

"No my Prince! I wasn't aware of such a fact!" he proclaimed loudly, again desperately hoping not to have gone off to the wrong start with the Prince.

In the corner, unnoticed by either of the nobles, Nicolas rolled his eyes.

"I would be disappointed if you didn't already know, Dramon. You don't mind me calling you Dramon do you?" he questioned, now turning back to look the heir in the eyes.

"No . . . Not at all my Prince!" He stuttered out.

"Good. Good." Aires nodded.

Then, opening up a packet of papers on the wooden table, he took the time to look over them one more time. Dramon sat there, observing him yet pretending not too, feeling awkward. Finally, after a minute of silence, Aires raised his head again to meet with Dramon's.

"As I move to Highgarden for the foreseeable future, there will be significant changes made in the authority of the Crownlands. You understand that, right?"

Dramon nodded his head in the affirmative.

"Considering this," Aires continued, though a bit more cautiously this time, "There are certain resources that I feel could be compromised if not under my direct watch."

Dramon raised his eyebrows.

"In what ways, Your Highness, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked, trying to probe for an opening.

The Prince simply smiled and returned to observing the waters outside his office. This went on for another few moments, convincing Dramon that Aires had no intention of answering that question. Damn. Finally, he spoke up, trying to regain the Prince's attention.

"How can House Norridge assist you in these matters, Your Highness?"

Now Aires turned back towards him, a thoughtful look on his face.

"I would need you to undertake a certain level of discretion when handling some artefacts and their handlers that will be settling in Arlington next week."

Dramon was only to anxious to reply in the positive.

"Of course, Your Highness, we would be more than happy to accommodate anyone or anything you send to our small domain! I am sure my Lord Grandfather would be more than happy to accept."

I mean, what other choice did one have. Refuse a direct and clearly a very sensitive offer from the Prince of the Iron Throne? Dramon thought not.

Aires nodded his head again.

"Good. Good," he spoke, "I am afraid that Daris will know nothing of the matter, however."

Again, Dramon's eyes widened and he stared at the Prince in shock. The Prince kept on smiling, as if this was a normal situation. Dramon would have laughed had it been anyone else sitting on the other side of the desk. This was preposterous!

The entire practice of nobility relied on the power of lords. It was unheard of for an heir, especially in the main branch of the family, to not keep his lord father or grandfather aware of all his activities. Simply unheard of.

"Excuse me, Your Highness?" he asked, trying to confirm the unbelievable statement the Baratheon had suggested.

"You heard me well enough Dramon," Aires replied slowly, taking his time to pronounce every word very carefully, "And if your grandfather or your liege Lord are made aware of these happenings, I will know, and I will take action."

Dramon took a deep breathe. Now that was very clearly a threat, one directed pointedly at him. He looked up at the Prince, seeing the imposing young man still staring at him, his eyes seemingly pouring into his soul.

"That . . . it is understood, Your Highness." he coughed out.

Suddenly Aires Baratheon stood straight up and clapped his hands together.

"Good!" he exclaimed, "I am very glad you have seen the right way my good Dramon!"

He walked around the desk and Dramon rose to meet the Prince, giving a small bow to him.

"No, no need of that my friend," the Prince protested, waving at Dramon for him to stand up.

"Come here," he asked, waving his hand to beckon the young heir to follow him.

Aires led Dramon over to the balcony outside of the room. The waft of fresh air hit both of the faces, and the Prince let out a sigh.

Dramon had to admit, it was quite a sight. The sprawling mass of King's Landing, laid bare before you. It was poetic in a way, standing here so many hundreds of feet above the smallfolk, just looking down at them.

"You are not married, are you?" Aires questioned offhandedly.

Dramon gulped, but otherwise tried to stay composed.

"No, I am afraid not, my Prince." he answered shortly.

Aires hummed out loud, as if puzzled by an interesting development.

"And yet are you not 18 years of age?" he inquired, a frown on his face.

The Norridge heir nodded once in confirmation, trying to shut down the conversation on the subject. He didn't have any actual power in determining what they talked about, but hoped to the Seven that the Prince would move on.

It was no secret in the Seven Kingdoms why the young heir of the House Norridge had incredible difficulty finding a bride. Normally, as Dramon was the only heir to the House, Lord Daris should have arranged a marriage or at least a betrothal for his grandson years ago. However, this had not been done, though not through lack of trying.

The reason lay not in the heir but in the Lord. Lord Daris of House Norridge was a man long past his prime. He was an old man, 78 by Aires' last count. He had lived through the Ninepenny War and Robert's Rebellion. He had lived as countless family members died around him. He had lived, in his own little keep, as it slowly become empty with now only him and his one remaining grandson occupying it.

The Maesters had said that, due to the pressure on him and the pain of seeing his House forced into ruin, the elderly Lord Daris had cracked. He was officially declared insane years back, unable to comprehend reality anymore. House Norridge's own maester, Torrent, had fled from Norridge Keep in 281 for fear of his life, saying that Lord Daris was convinced he was secretly a White Walker due to his blonde hair and intended to skewer him on a lance. Needless to say, no maester had accepted the appointment to House Norridge after that.

Daris was very sick indeed. A sickness of the mind, the Order called it. Much like the one that might have seized the Mad King.

He ranted that he was King of a territory called Swarley, was a young man in his prime, and was one of the most skilled fighters in all the land. Clearly, he was none of those.

Locked away in his ancestral keep, bellowing out nonsense at aides, retainers, and the few servants left to him, House Norridge had been excluded from the court in Highgarden and from proper nobility in general. No more did knights and nobles come from lands far away to visit the home of the proud knights of Norridge. Now they stayed away.

For all intents and purposes, Dramon was the man who ruled House Norridge, not that there was much left to rule over. The servants and the half a dozen retainers they had left followed his commands, not his grandfathers.

Well that was the reason that Aires had specifically put this matter in the hands of House Norridge, of course.

A weak and insane Lord. A sidelined and forgotten House. A timid heir who had had the responsibilities of his domain thrust upon him. The entire situation was the perfect tool that Aires was going to craft and tone till it was perfectly sharp and ready to be wielded by its creator.

"Hmm," he pretended to ponder, "We'll have to do something about that, won't we." he spoke out to Dramon.

The young heir's eyes widened. The Prince of the Iron Throne, Heir Apparent to the Lord Paramouncy of the Stormlands, and the Black Prince himself promising to find you a bride was not something to take lightly. Especially if you were in Dramon's situation.

Aires let out a small laugh and led Dramon back into his offices.

"I wish you a pleasant journey back to Norridge Keep," he patted his new friend on the back, opening the door for him to leave.

"Before I leave," Dramon interjected, "What will I tell my lord father of what happened here today? And my liege lord?"

Aires seemed to mull over it for a second before shrugging his shoulders.

"I must thank you again for giving me a favorable opinion of House Tyrell. The introduction was much appreciated." he spoke out.

Dramon nodded once more to the Prince.

"Of course Your Highness."

With that, the young man left down the hallway, disappearing around the corner a moment later.

When Fabian closed the door to his offices, Aires let out a deep sigh and turned back to Nicolas.

"Well that went well, don't you think?" he asked.

Nicolas inclined his head.

"Very much so, Your Highness. I must beg your leave to finish these accounts in my offices in preparation for my new position."

Aires nodded and waved his hand at him. Nicolas bowed deeply this time and made his way out of the room, a large stack of papers in his arms.

The Prince closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing deeply and enjoying the air that circulated around the room.

Then, opening his eyes and setting his face to a more serious image, he called out.

"Ser Fabian!"

The knight instantly opened the large wooden doors to the room and walked inside, bowing his head at the back of his liege.

"I shall be out tonight," the Prince commented airly, "Nobody is to disturb my chambers,"

"Of course, Your Highness," the knight replied steadily, moving back outside of the offices and closing to door, leaving Aires to his own thoughts.

He walked over to the balcony, leaning his arms against the side wall and looking out once more on the million beneath him. With a slight smirk, his heels turned around and he strode back into his office.

* * *

 **Dark of Night**

 **22** **th** **Day of the Sixth Moon; 296 A.L.**

 **The Red Keep**

 **King's Landing, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms**

A dark specter moved silently in the night.

He wore a black clock, without any emblems or other markings. His face was completely obscured by his hood, the color of the night covering his movements.

Slowly, without a rush, he walked down a dirt road leading towards the docks. Even at this time of the night, workers and artisans ran around, finishing products and delivering things to their proper destinations.

In the distance, the candle lights were still burning bright on a new war galley, men hammering away to get the thing together. Planks of wood, rigging, equipment, nails, iron items were all being carried back and forth from the thing in such a disorganized like manner. This should be no surprise though. Afterall, the docks of King's Landing were simply those: docks. Not the massive behemoth that was the naval construction arsenal of Braavos.

The lamps hung from buildings and wooden posts allowed just enough light for the man to see the path he was walking on. He made no noise as he continued to walk down the dirt road, all the busy workers ignoring him as they passed. They all seemed to just melt away from him as they passed, as though they were subconsciously avoiding the figure in the back cloak.

Even at this time at night, King's Landing was never quiet or peaceful. In the background, the man could hear the loud noises coming from a nearby brothel and its neighboring bar, moans and screams filling to void of sound.

Soon enough, the activity of the capital city bled into the background as the man moved farther and farther away from the docks. A little while later, he came upon small mound on to of a cliff, devoid of human presence, overlooking the waters of Blackwater Bay.

Already standing there, staring out into the distance, was another man in a black clock. It was so similar to his, in fact, that they might have just been the same person.

The man approached his counterpart, standing to his left, completely silent.

They both stood there, side by side, without moving for a minute. Finally, the one on the left opened his mouth to speak, his body still motionless.

"The Targaryen exiles are said to be hosted by the Pentosi Magistar."

The other man inclined his head slightly, replying in a thick tone, definitely an Essosi accent.

"A man knows. Another man is already following an exiled prince and princess."

The man who had spoken first hummed softly, pulling back his hood to expose his face to the darkness of night.

"And has a man managed to infiltrate the Magistar's residence?" he asked, his voice expressionless.

"A man has not. A man's primary task is to remain unnoticed." the second one replied, his words straight to the point.

"Indeed," was the first one again.

"There is another man in Highgarden waiting for me?" he questioned, unconcerned about the activities of the other across the sea.

"A man is in the Rose of the Reach, and more men and women shall follow," came the response, "Men and women have been ready to move ever since a plan was put into motion.

\- Good. Good."

The conversation stopped, and the two men in their black cloaks turned back to focusing on the calm waves of the bay.

"And when will you be moving west, Jaqen?" the first one questioned, a smile tugging at his lips.

The other man did not react to being called by his first name, showing no sign of recognizing the signature.

"A man will move west when his God commands it to be so," he spoke calmly, betraying not a hint of emotion.

"Then you will leave in two days time," the first one answered him, "It is better that we move quicker than slower."

The second man nodded and inclined his head at the other.

"As my God's master commands,"

With that, the second cloaked man swiftly left the small mound, his cloak billowing in the wind as he strode down and away from sight.

The other man stood still for a second longer, before he too turned around and walked back towards the docks.

It was good to have the Stranger on your side when dealing with the House of Black and White, especially if you were Aires Baratheon.

* * *

 _ **"The Nature of the Seven Kingdoms" A Tome by Ser Orion Redding, Lord of the House of Redding**_

 **Excerpt from Chapter 8: "The Lord Paramouncy from 0 to 281 A.L.** _ **"; Pages 152-157**_

 _For the thousands of years before the unification of the Westerosi continent, the Seven Kingdoms were each seven independent "kingdoms". They were each ruled by their own royal family, and these seven families were known as the Great Houses of Westeros. The Kingdom of the North was ruled by the House of Stark; the Kingdom of the Mountain and the Vale was ruled by the House of Arryn; the Kingdom of the Isles and the Rivers was ruled by the House of Hoare; the Kingdom of the Rock was ruled by the House of Lannister; the Kingdom of the Reach was ruled by the House of Gardener; the Kingdom of Storms was ruled by the House of Durrandon; the Kingdom of Dorne was ruled by the House of Martell._

 _Each of the Seven Kingdoms, the North, the Vale, the Rivers, the Rock, the Reach, the Storm, and the Dorne, had warred and fought against each other for millenia. Through this time, the seven Great Houses maintained near total control of their domains without any significant changes of territory. Due to a lack of basic transportation infrastructure, government bureaucracy, and army organization, military campaigns were few and far between. This allowed the independent Kingdoms to more or less remain secure in their lands._

 _These circumstances explain the dramatic effect of Aegon's Landing and his subsequent invasion of the Westerosi continent. Never before had the Kingdoms of Westeros suffered such a devastating and complete occupation, and certainly not by a single Lord._

 _When the Targaryen Regime was imposed upon the six of the seven kingdoms, Aegon I Targaryen understood the importance of local authority over the Kingdoms. As such, those Great Houses who surrendered were given the offer to continue ruling, but under the new Targaryen monarchy. Thus when King Torrhen Stark surrendered to Aegon Targaryen, he stopped being the "King in the North", and he and his family continued to rule as "Lords Paramount of the North", as part of the unified Targaryen realm. House Lannister of the Rock and House Arryn of the Vale were also allowed to abandon their monarchical status in favor to that of "Lord Paramouncy"._

 _In three of the other kingdoms, the ruling Great Houses had died during the conquest, so the Targaryens elevated other major Houses in those regions to Lords Paramount. House Gardener had ruled as the Kings of the Reach, but all living members were killed at the climactic battle of the Field of Fire. Their stewards, House Tyrell, then surrendered Highgarden to King Aegon I. The Tyrells were descended from the House of Gardener, though through the female line. In reward for their role in handing over Highgarden, King Aegon named them Lords Paramount of the Reach. As a result, a member of House Tyrell has never ruled as a king or queen._

 _Similarly, the last of the Storm Kings of the Stormlands died in the conquest, so the King named his bastard half-brother Orys Baratheon as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands for his role in the victory. However, Orys then married the daughter of the last of the Storm Kings, ensuring some continuity in rule. House Hoare of the Isles and the Rivers was eradicated in the conquest, and the King decided to split House Hoare's former Kingdom in two. The newly created Riverlands were given to the House of Tully, allies of House Targaryen who had risen to help overthrow their Ironborn overlords during Aegon's Invasion._

 _In the Iron Islands, the King asked the ironborn to choose one line from among their major noble Houses to become Lords Paramount. The ironborn chose House Greyjoy, who ruled over the Iron Islands under the Targaryens for the next 300 years._ _A slight difference was that the Greyjoys were referred to as "Lords of the Iron Islands", but there was apparently no legal difference between their status and that of a "Lord Paramount". Certainly, they were conquered by the Targaryens just like all of the other regions, so there was no reason for them to be treated differently._

 _House Martell of Dorne managed to repulse Aegon's forces and thus remained independent for another two centuries. A century before the War of the Five Kings they were peacefully united to the Targaryen realm through marriage-alliance. As a result they were allowed to maintain many local laws and customs, and still style themselves as "Princes of Dorne", not "Lords Paramount of Dorne". "Prince" was a holdover from when the Rhoynar used to live in city-states in Essos._

 _There were therefore a few legal differences between being the ruling "Prince" of Dorne and a "Lord Paramount", though they do seem to be functionally equivalent. The only apparent difference was that Dorne continues to follow its custom of practicing equal primogeniture, thus there have been several instances of women ruling Dorne, in which case they were styled as "Princess of Dorne". It was not clear if the Targaryen Kings technically had the right to dismiss the Princes of Dorne, as they apparently did with Lords Paramount (though none was actually dismissed in three centuries of Targaryen rule)._

 _Only six Houses held the title of "Lord Paramount" at one time, as the Iron Islands and Dorne use alternate titles. House Targaryen itself ruled the Crownlands directly, yet not as "Lords Paramount"._

 _At the same time, King Aegon I created a tradition of naming four of the Lord Paramounts as local military leaders. These four "Wardens" would serve as the de-facto military governors of their regions during times of war. The Wardenship of the North was traditionally reserved for the House of Stark; the Wardenship of the East for the House of Arryn; the Wardenship of the West for the House of Lannister; and the Wardenship of the South for the House of Tyrell. Occasionally, the monarch would alter these roles, placing the House Tyrell as the Wardens of the West and the House Baratheon as the Warden of the South. However, these roles would all return to their original holders over time._

 _In a historical context, it is shown that the existence of the Lords Paramount were critical in the maintenance of the Targaryen Monarchy over Westeros for so long. Surely without them, the former Kingdoms would have risen up and united together to overthrow their Targaryen overlords before long. Since at no time did they do this, the system is shown to have succeeded. Even during times of crisis and internal war, one being the many Blackfyre rebellions, never did the Kingdoms as a whole act against the House Targaryen or seek to depose them._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello all! Hope you enjoy this latest update.**

 **Cersei reveals her true thoughts about her sons and Aires continues to manipulate everyone that is around him.**

 **This took a little while to write, because I had to go back and rewrite it a few times until it had the exact feel that I wanted. I truly hope you guys like this, since I'm very happy with this chapter.**

 **I really do appreciate constructive criticism of my work. If there are errors, things that don't make sense, convoluted thoughts, please let me know and I will do my best to correct them. My work is never perfect, so please let me know when it's not.**

 **So far, the first four chapters have been focused on one character: Aires Baratheon. The coming chapters will have different points of view in them.**

 **Finally, this story will include a large number of original characters. These range from being soldiers, administrators, merchants, to sellswords. Please submit names and descriptions of characters I can use.**

 **Feel free to ask questions and please favorite, follow, and review. Thanks to all who have done so!**

 **See you next time,**

 **Greysider**


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